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THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION 


THE WORKS OF 

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY 
HIS DAUGHTER, ANNE RITCHIE 

IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES 

Volume IV. 

THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, Esq. 
THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 
CATHERINE: A STORY, Etc. 

























- 


. 




































































































































































* 






















































































































































































\ 




































































CAPTAIN WALKER’S INTRODUCTION TO MORGIANA 


[Page 379 



THE MEMOIRS OF 


BARRY LYNDON, Esq. 

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF 

; 

THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS, 
CATHERINE: A STORY 
MEN’S WIVES 

ETC, 

BY 

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

» # 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. MILLAIS , R.A. 

LUKE FILDES, A.R.A., AND THE A UTHOR 



HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 

i 8 9 8 


04 ~ / b 3 2 - / 


rz 3 

T 



9873 


2n 


1898 , 




Copyright, 1898, by Harper & Brothers. 



All rights reserved , 

TWO COPIEJ RECEIVED* 


3 ws v v, 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION ...... 

THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

CHAP. 

I. MY PEDIGREE AND FAMILY UNDERGO THE INFLU- 

ENCE OF THE TENDER PASSION 

II. IN WHICH I SHOW MYSELF TO BE A MAN OF SPIRIT 

III. I MAKE A FALSE START IN THE GENTEEL WORLD . 

IV. IN WHICH BARRY TAKES A NEAR VIEW OF MILI- 

TARY GLORY ....... 

V. IN WHICH BARRY TRIES TO REMOVE AS FAR FROM 
MILITARY GLORY AS POSSIBLE 

VI. THE CRIMP WAGGON MILITARY EPISODES 

VII. BARRY LEADS A GARRISON LIFE, AND FINDS MANY 
FRIENDS THERE ...... 

VIII. BARRY BIDS ADIEU TO THE MILITARY PROFESSION . 

IX. I APPEAR IN A MANNER BECOMING MY NAME AND 
LINEAGE ....... 

X. MORE RUNS OF LUCK ...... 

XI. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES AGAINST BARRY . 

XII. CONTAINS THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE PRINCESS 
OF X ....... 

XIII. I CONTINUE MY CAREER AS A MAN OF FASHION 

XIV. I RETURN TO IRELAND, AND EXHIBIT MY SPLEN- 


PAQE 

xiii 


3 

27 

41 

53 

61 

74 

89 

99 

106 

117 

132 

140 

157 


DOUR AND GENEROSITY IN THAT KINGDOM 


171 


XI 1 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


MEN’S WIVES 


NOT ALTOGETHER UNEXPECTED 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE KIDNEY CLUB 
POOR MORGIANA .... 
AN INNOCENT TRAITOR . 

PREPARING FOR A DEBUT 
OLD SCHOOL-FELLOWS 
A DESERTED HUSBAND 


To face page 

• > > 






398 

406 

428 

444 

454 

482 

512 


CATHERINE : A STORY 


mrs. Catherine’s temptation 

THE INTERRUPTED MARRIAGE . 

CAPTAIN BROCK APPEARS AT COURT WITH 
MY LORD PETERBOROUGH . 

Catherine’s present to mr. hayes 






528 

568 






576 

618 


INTRODUCTION 


TO 

BARRY LYNDON, etc. 

1839-1844 


Almost the first time I can remember my parents was at home 
in Great Coram Street on one occasion, when my mother took me 
upon her back, as she had a way of doing, and after hesitating 
for a moment at the door, carried me into a little ground-floor 
room, where some one sat bending over a desk. This some one 
lifted up his head and looked round at the people leaning over 
his chair. He seemed pleased, smiled at us, but remonstrated. 
Nowadays I know by experience that authors don’t get on best, 
as a rule, when they are interrupted in their work — not even by 
their own particular families — but at that time it was all wonder- 
ing, as I looked over my mother’s shoulder. Another impression 
remains to me of some place near Russell Square, of a fine morn- 
ing, of music sounding, of escaping from my nurse and finding 
myself dancing in the street to the music along with some other 
children. Some one walking by came and lifted me up bodily on 
to his shoulder, and carried me away from the charming organ 
to my home, which was close by. As we went along, this stran- 
ger, as usual, became my father, whom I had not recognised at 
first. Old John, in his funny knee-breeches, used to open the 
door of that early home in Coram Street. I think the knee- 
breeches were yellow plush : it was probably the livery of the Car- 
ol ichael-Smyths, for Old John had come up from Devonshire and 
Larkbeare, where he had faithfully served them all. I loved 
Old John. He used to teach me to sip porter out of a pint pot, 
and to take my part when I was naughty ; I can hear him still 
calling for Missy’s chop, and announcing the important fact that 


XIV 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


she was crying for her dinner. I had a fine time of it. My 
mother used to give me chocolates, and play prettier dance tunes 
even than organs in the street outside. I was but little over 
two years old, and I sometimes wonder now when I look at chil- 
dren of two, whether they also are beginning to see the world 
and to take their place in it, and what they think of it all. I 
liked the world extremely at that age ; 
the house seemed to me a splendid 
house, upstairs and downstairs, and 
there were organs constantly playing 
outside it. From the old scraps and 
notes remaining, I can realise the life 
we led, of which the sunny picture is 
still before my eyes. The drawing- 
room windows opened to a balcony ; 
on the other side of the room, my 
mother, with pretty shining hair, used 
to sit at her piano. 

About that time Mr. Fitz-Gerald 
writes to my father at 13 Great Coram 
Street, Russell Square : — 

“ Dear Thackeray, — Thank you 
for your last letter, as also for the 
former one, accompanying a very beau- 
tiful drawing, which I take pleasure in 
looking at. I am very glad you are 
engaged in a way of life that you like : 
that is a good thing, indeed, which 
most people miss. It would seem that I ought to be willing 
and able to write plenty of letters, as I have nothing in the 
world to do ; but it is all I can do now to manage one. When 
you see Spedding, please remember to tell him that I did write 
him a letter, which 1 put into the fire because it was pert ; and 
got nearly through another lately, which I abandoned because it 
was all about nothing. He has so much to do, that one has no 
right to expect any letter from him ; but give him my hearty 
love. All this you will forget, you rascal ! 

“ I will exalt your name as a politician for ever if you will 



INTRODUCTION 


xv 


contrive to persuade me that we have nothing to fear from the 
domineering Russia. It is not the present fuss made about her 
that makes me tremble, but I have always been afraid that she 



MOTHER AND CHILD. 

was the Power kept in pickle to overwhelm Europe, just as men 
were beginning to settle into a better state than the world has yet 
seen. If she were out of the question, we should do very well. 

‘ There is but one 

Whose being we do fear ; and, under her, 

Our genius is rebuked ; as, it is said, 

Marc Antony’s was by Caesar.’ 


XVI 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


“ Another illustrious author says, ‘ Joy to the Jews, and 
Russia pays the expence,’ but this is in the way of Revelations, 
and therefore inexplicable. 1 study Clarke’s book more and 
more, and see something new every time. Do you hear any- 
thing of a second part ? The last delicate touch that I became 
aware of was when, after the catastrophe at Pedaston House, 
Mrs. Gasky carries off Athanasius in her gig, which was waiting 
for her at the door. You will herewith draw Mrs. Gasky’s gig. 
Thank you for your desire that I should come on a visit to you 
in London. I have been within an ace of coming up, but I do 
not think I shall now. Your accounts of Jack are very fine. I 
have been staying two days with Donne, who contributes to his 
review, and is a very delightful fellow. If you ask Jack about 
him, I dare say he will inform you in a whisper that he is one 
of the most distinguished generals alive. My sisters and broth- 
er-in-law spoke with grave praises of your ‘ Yellowplush ’ the 
other day, not knowing who had written it, so I had the satis- 
faction of insinuating with an air of indifference that I knew 
the author well. They are also not quite certain but that I 
wrote it myself, so that I gain every way. I see poor old 
Macready toiling away at the ‘Tempest’ three times a week; 
the papers talk of there being full houses, but I conclude that 
that is undoubtedly a lie. Miss Horton must be a pretty Ariel ; 
there is some knavishness in the expression of her face which 
must be suitable. Now farewell, dear Thackeray, and make my 
duty to my Lady, and believe me, ever yours, 

“ E. FitzGerald. 

“P.S . — If you happen to go to Edmonton, or to meet Mrs. 
Gasky in her gig between that place and London, do not forget 
to give her my compts. ‘ Here one of the bishops was sick, and 
was obliged to be taken out. I did not hear what became of 
him.’ Who can write like that ?” 

In those days my father was working for the Times and the 
Morning Chronicle , for the Cruikshank Annuals and for Bentley , 
for Fraser and other periodicals. The accounts which still exist 
show how hard he worked, and how much quill-driving is neces- 
sary to keep even a modest household going, in a little back 


INTRODUCTION 


xvn 


street in London.* My mother used to laugh, and say that she 
had helped to make his fortunes when she introduced him to 
the Times. The Sterlings were old friends of her family, and 
she had lived as a girl a good deal in the house in South Place 
where “ The Thuuderer,” Captain Sterling, still dwelt. 1 used 
to be taken there, and I can just remember him in a sort of 
gallery in a wheel-chair, and my godmother, Mrs. Sterling, 
standing by and giving me a pair of red shoes. I sat on the 
floor and gazed at them in admiration. This taste may have 
been inherited, for there was a story my father used to tell us 
of his own early youth and of his passionate longing for a pair 
of Hessian boots, which he ordered home, and which were stern- 
ly sent back to the shop as unbefitting a schoolboy. It was a 
dreadful moment, and one which he said he could never forget. 
Does any one ever forget these early mortifications ? 

Boots must have been of much more vital importance in the 
beginning of the century than they are now. I see in a note to 
“ The Life of Cardinal Manning,” who was four years older than 
my father, that at Harrow Mr. George Richmond describes 
Manning as “ a buck of the first water,” and says that among 
other adornments he sported Hessian boots with tassels. 

The history of “ Stubbs and the Fatal Boots ” may have had 
some link with those Hessiaus of my father’s dreams. The 
story was written in the year 1839, and was published in Cruik- 
shank’s Comic Annual for 1840. 

Two years later my father writes to Mrs. Proctor, sending her 
a part of the MS. of the “ Fatal Boots.” 

“ I have the honour to lay them at your feet,” he says, and 
along with the MS. he sends an allegorical sketch representing 
the presentation. 

“Catherine” was also written in 1839. The story appeared 
in Fraser's Magazine. “ It was written in imitation of the 
bombastic fictions of the day,” says a later editor. 

A taste for highwaymen was the fashion then, just as a taste 
for the new woman and neurotics has been popular of late. The 

* Our old friend, Sir Henry Cole, has recorded in his Memoirs that he sent 
a sketch to Mr. Cobden by W. M. T. in 1839, recommending his services in 
the Anti-Corn Law cause: “ The artist is a genius both with his pen and his 
pencil. I think you would find him a most useful auxiliary,” he wrote. 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


xviii 

story of the wicked Catherine is one of the grimmest of all my 
father’s stories ; but he still, perhaps, retained the prejudice 
that crime is grim. 

Nowadays some adventurous authors have tried to point a 
different moral to that wholesome one of our forebears. Who 
shall say that the jaded taste of our philosophies, having passed 
through all other experiences, may not eventually revert to 
thumbscrews, and other such spirited additions to the emotions 
of the hour 2 



Everybody admired “Jack Sheppard,” including my grand- 
mother and my grandfather ; it created a furore, and sold by 
thousands. I can remember hearing it talked of, long after, 
when as very small children we used to look at the Cruikshank 
illustrations, with their weird goblin legs and faces, and winking 
eyes. 

“ I read your views about ‘ Jack Sheppard,’ ” my father writes 
to his mother, “ and such is the difference of taste, thought it 



INTRODUCTION 


xix 


poor stuff, quite below the mark, and inferior to the remarks on 
the same subject with which ‘ Catherine ’ was concluded.” 
“Catherine” made its mark. “The judges stand up for me,” 
he writes. “ Carlyle says it is wonderful, and many more laud 
it highly, but it is a disgusting subject and no mistake. I wish 
I had taken a pleasanter one. . . .” 

Again he says, writing to his mother : “ It is very ingenious in 
you to find beauties in ‘Catherine,’ which was a mistake all through. 
It was not made disgusting enough — that was the fact, and the 
triumph of it would have been to make readers so horribly horri- 
fied as to cause them to give up, or rather throw up the book and 
all its kind; whereas you see the author had a sneaking kindness 
for his heroine, and did not like to make her quite worthless.” 

The story of “ Catherine ” has an episode belonging to it, a 
very absurd one. Catherine Hayes was a real person, a well- 
known Irish murderess, the account of whose trial and execu- 
tion is taken from the newspapers of the time. She was buried 
at Tyburn in 1726. 

It unfortunately happened that a most charming songstress of 
my father’s own day, who was popular in Ireland, and no less 
popular here in England, was also named Catherine Hayes.* 
Miss Hayes’ impressionable Irish admirers came to the conclusion 
that this story of the former Catherine was a deliberate attack 
upon their favourite singer. An extraordinary burst of indigna- 
tion fell upon my poor father ; enthusiastic vindicators rose on 
every side, and knights to attack this cobweb of their own spin- 
ning ; nor was the supposed injury forgotten. 

In a letter to Adelaide Procter my father says, long after, in 
answer to her request for a contribution to a magazine, “ As I 
was writing to say I had nothing, I lighted upon this queer 
scrap of a ballad, which perhaps won’t do for you. I don’t re- 
member the remainder, but Morgan John O’Connell knows it by 
heart. . . . The second half relates the persecution of the Irish 
papers ever so many years ago, who said my story of ‘ Cath- 
erine’ was a deliberate attempt to ruin Miss Catherine Hayes, 
and I was flogged all round the Irish press for this wickedness. 

*Miss Hayes married Captain Bucknell, and died in all her youth and 
beauty not many months after her marriage. There was also an allusion to 
Catherine Hayes in “ Pendennis ” (afterwards suppressed). 


XX 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


I kept back the ballad at the time, because I just know Mrs. 
Bucknell, and I thought she might not like to have her name 
jokingly rhymed upon. But I saw her at the Theodore Martin’s 
two days ago, when she spoke about the ballad, which M. J. 
O’Connell had repeated to her.” Mrs. Bucknell alluded in so 
friendly a way to the poem that my father thought himself 
justified in allowing it to be reprinted, and he accordingly sent 
it to Miss Procter.* 

“ ‘ Little Billee,’ ” he adds in a postscript, alluding to the poem 
she had first asked for, “ was given away, and published years 
ago in an unknown book, to which I knew it would do no good, 
but the bookwriter’s brother had been kind to me.” 

It was, I believe, in consequence of the allusion to Catherine 
Hayes in “Pendennis” that an incident occurred which comes 
within my own recollection. One evening my father received 
a letter signed by a Mr. Briggs, announcing that a company of 
young Irishmen had determined to chastise him for this, and 
for various other supposed personal insults of an equally serious 
nature, and intended to come over one by one until their purpose 
was accomplished. Mr. Briggs had taken lodgings opposite to 
our house in Young Street, and was waiting until my father 
should go out, to attack him. 

In the window of our dining-room was presently established a 
stoutgood-humoured-lookingmanin a mustard-coloured coat, who 
was, so we are told, a detective. He arrived immediately after 
breakfast, and spent the morning staring at the opposite door- 
way, while my father finished his morning’s work. When lunch 
time came the detective descended for his meal into the kitchen. 
Some friends arrived to luncheon. My father said the situation 
was becoming ridiculous and unbearable, and to our alarm and 
excitement he walked straight across the street and knocked at 
the door of Mr. Briggs’ lodging and went in. We waited won- 
dering in the bow-window ; at the end of twenty minutes or so 
the lodging-house door opened, and he came out, unruffled and 
composed. He had walked in, caused himself to be announced 
suddenly by the landlady ; had told Mr. Briggs he was come to 
talk the matter over, and to find out in what he had offended 
him. The young man— he was a very young man — blustered at 
* This poem has not been included in any edition of “ The Ballads.” 


INTRODUCTION 


xxi 



A WAS AN ALDERMAN ROSY AND FAT. 


first, then suddenly cooled 
down and listened to rea- 
son. He had never heard 
of the real Catherine 
Hayes, the murderess, be- 
fore. He seems to have 
been surprisingly amena- 
ble to explanation, and af- 
ter ten minutes’ conversa- 
tion, to my father’s great 
relief, he actually prom- 
ised to go back to Ireland. 

And so he did, that very 
evening. 

Besides talking the 
young man over in those 
twenty minutes, my father 
was also able to buy an old 
Chippendale chair from 
the lodging-house woman, in which he sate for many years. 

“ Catherine,” as I have said, was one of the most cynical of my 

father’s stories. He wrote 
many cynical things in those 
early days, as people do 
when they are very young 
and happy. On one occa- 
sion he writes : “ Here is a 
man shouting, and we shall 
have this Lord William Rus- 
sell murder a nuisance, and 
so it is. The stupid town 
talks of nothing else, and 
the stupid Times and Stand- 
ard are lecturing the town 
upon the remissness of the 
police and the Whigs, of 
course. As a measure of 
defence I intended to mur- 
B was a beadle that wore a cocked hat. der Old John and rob him 


B.i 




XXII 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 



of his money.” “ Going 
to see a man hanged,” 
dates from that time. But 
he never spoke of that 
dreadful experience with- 
out a shudder. 

“ It was a horrible 
sight indeed,” he writes 
to Mrs. Proctor, “ and I 
can’t help mentioning it, 
for the poor wretch’s face 
will keep itself before 
my eyes, and the scene 
mixes itself up with all 
my occupations.” 

In that same year, the 
last of my father’s happy 
early days, he wrote“The 
Shabby Genteel Story,” 
which is of a very differ- 


ent mood and sort, and 
which was always a fa- 
vourite with him. It was 
published in Fraser in 
1840. At the end of his 
life he made a conclusion 
to it, in the Cornhill — 
“ Philip ” — the last of 
his completed stories. He 
called the heroine, the 
little sister, by the name 
of Caroline, which he al- 
ways pronounced Carolin, 
and which he used to say 
w r as his favourite woman’s 
name. 

To return to the little 
house in Coram Street — 
Alfred Tennyson used to 


D 



D WAS A DDSTMAN QUITE BLACK IN THE 


INTRODUCTION 


XXlll 


come there, and Mr. 
Morton and the Kem- 
bles ; and Edward Fitz- 
Gerald stayed there 
more than once. “ Love 
to all Coram Street,” 
FitzGerald says, writing 
to Archdeacon Allen ; 
and again, “ Give my 
love to Thackeray from 
your upper window 
across the street.” 

The Allens lived op- 
posite to us then, and 1 
almost remember them, 
although I was under 
three years old. They 
were carriage people — 
at least they had a wood- 




en go-cart, in which 1 
used to be taken out for 
drives with an Allenbaby 
of my own standing. It 
was a glorious sensation, 
combining ease to the 
legs with proper pride 
and delightful society. 
One does not remember 
enough in after life the 
extraordinary variety of 
experiences which are 
comprised within the first 
two or three years of 
one’s existence — those 
dawning hours, when the 
whole world is illumi- 
nated and enchanting, 
when animals can speak 
— nay, when all nature 


XXIV 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


speaks and inanimate things are alive, and when we are as gods, 
and unconscious of evil, and create existence for ourselves as 
we breathe. 

And here the writer must confess that although she remem- 
bers these raptures and the go-cart and some picture-books and 
the drawing of a certain alphabet which was to teach her to 
read,* she has reconstructed much of what happened from the 
scraps and letters of that time. 

“ If you were here and could be intimate with John Allen, 
how you would respect him,” my father writes from Coram 
Street to his mother. “The man is just a perfect saint, nor 
more nor less, and not the least dogmatical or presumptuous ; 
but working, striving, yearning day and night in the most 
intense efforts to gain Christian perfection — and yet the world 
would not be as good a world as it is, were all men like 
him: it would be but a timid, ascetic place, in which many 
of the finest faculties of the soul would not dare to exer- 
cise themselves. No man can, however, escape from his influ- 
ence, which is perfectly magnetic. ...” 

It was in 1839 that my parents lost a little child, of whom 
my father never could speak without emotion. She was only a 
baby, but wonderfully forward and full of tender sensibility, 
one of those children who seem to carry a light from some 
diviner world in their hearts and ways. He has spoken of this 
time himself in the Preface to “The Great Hoggarty Dia- 
mond,” the book which John Sterling praised. f There is a 
tone in it which is almost like a keynote to much of the sad 
experience at this time ; and which vibrates on as some 
notes do. 

Here is a quotation from a letter from my father to my 
mother in the country : — 

“They say the town is very gay, but I have almost left off 
going to operas and theatres, and come home early, when Fitz- 
Gerald and I have a pipe together, and so go quietly to bed. It 


* This alphabet never went further than the pictures .which are here given. 
f“What is there better in Goldsmith or Fielding?” Sterling said. 
Blackwood did not think so. “ They refused the best story I ever wrote !” 
my father said, writing to Professor Aytoun in 1847. 


INTRODUCTION 


XXV 


is delightful to have him in the house, but I’m afraid his society 
makes me idle, we sit and talk too much about books and pict- 
ures and smoke too many cigars.” 


W. M. T. to E. F. G. 

“ Here is a scene of the Spotted Dog, a public-house near the 
Strand, where you pay 2d. to hear singing, &c. The faces are 
not at all caricatured, not even the eyebrows. The poor devil to 
the Right Hof the Pieter sung a solo about Rosy Bacchus, the 
other two sung a glee, the One-eyed Man Bass.” 



THE “SPOTTED DOG.” 


The following extracts belong to this time : 

W. M. T. to his Mother. 

“The days pass away to me like half-hours. I have just 
done an article about George Cruikshank for the London and 
Westminster ; I will send it you when it appears ; and further- 
more am bringing out on my own account a weekly paper 
called the Foolscap Library . I think it will take, and the 
profits of it will be so enormous if successful that I don’t like 
to share them with a bookseller.” 



XXVI 


BARKY LYNDON, ETC. 


“ I have lots of work on hand, so much so that I am half dis- 
tracted with it and do little, but am going to do wonders direct- 
ly. ‘ Dr. Johnson,’ says Mrs. Thrale, ‘ please to read these man- 
uscripts. I have several others when you have done these, for, 
Doctor, I have plenty of irons in the fire ’ — to which the Doctor 
replied : ‘ Madam, you had better put them along with your 
other irons ’ — a good fate for the works of most of us. (I have 
grown to hate letter-paper as somebody does holy water).” 

“ February , 1840 . 

“We have been on a sweet trip to Clapham to see my friend 
Cattermole, who has married a charming little wife, and has a 
beautiful place, and on another to Chelsea to see Carlyle and 
Mrs. C. Pleasanter, more high-minded people I don’t know.” 

“ Leigh Hunt has produced a charming play, and my lady is 
going with the Kembles in their private box. Fitz is to come 
too, and I intend to stop at home and work. ... We are all won- 
drous well in health, and my dear little Missy is as gay as a 
lark.” 

“I have been rejoicing in the Exhibitions this week, which 
always put me in a fever for a certain number of days, and set 
me buying paint-boxes, and thinking that I have missed my vo- 
cation.” 

“ The death of Macleod, the captain of the Great Liverpool, 
shocked me a great deal, and that awful principle of mistaken 
honour. Who are Christians in the world ? Priests and aris- 
tocracy have killed the spirit of Christianity, I think — the one 
by inventing curses, the other honour. . . . 

“I have been poring over the Life of David Hume all day — 
the most amiable of honest heathens. His life is excellently 
selfish and good-humoured and correct, and he went out of the 
world quite unconcerned, and with a grin on his face, entering 
into eternity as if he were stepping into a Court ball.” 

The next letter is dated May 1840. My father was at Leam- 
ington, a hundred miles away from a good dinner to which Mrs. 
Procter had asked him ; and Mrs. Procter, the wife of Barry 
Cornwall, who was so warm a friend to my father in those by- 
gone days, gave a book of his letters to our good friends and 


INTRODUCTION 


xxvn 


hers, Mr. and Mrs. Murray Smith, from which collection I have 
been allowed by them to quote: — 

“ If you could but see how wonderful the country is,” he says, 
“ the country of Shakspeare. The old homes of England stand- 
ing pleasantly in smiling cowslipped lawns, whence spring lofty 
elms amidst which the breezes whisper melodies, the birds sing- 
ing ravishing concerts, the sheep browsing here and there, and 
waddling among the fresh pastures like walking door-mats, the 
tender lambs trotting about on thick legs ; the cows, bullocks, 
or kine, looking solemnly with large eyes from betwixt their 
crooked horns, the lusty rustics sauntering round about whistling 



RUSTIC WHISTLING. 


[sketch], the fat yeomanry cavalry [sketch] swaggering thro’ the 
green lanes. . . . How I wish for Leigh Hunt, or any friend who 
really loves the country,” he adds in conclusion. 


W. M. T. to his Mother. 


“ May 1840. 

“ I am very much alarmed about the state of the country — not 
alarmed, that is, for what can I lose ? — but quite certain that a 


XXV111 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


certain part of us are going to the deuce, and that a tremendous 
revolution is preparing. There will be no end to it when it 
comes, and vou will have barricading again in Paris, and there 
will be similar work all through Europe. The orthodox say it 


f 



will be the battle of Armageddon, after which the Millennium. 
There are a million and a half of Chartists, armed, banded, and 
corresponding closely with one another. Their plan is not to 
meet in large bodies at all, but their officers meet, and their 
officers’ officers, and these have corresponding delegates who 
direct the operations. Had it not been for a rainy night and the 
cowardice of that scoundrel Frost we might have been now the 
British Republic for what I know, and Queen Victoria in her 
uncle’s dominions of Hanover. Thank God that the Chartists 
have not a man of courage at their head who might set the king- 
dom in a blaze. With their views about equalising property — 
robbery, in fact — of course a revolution effected by them could 
not last long, and the fit would soon be over ; but the deuce is 
that one must take and bear it, and be in a fever for a couple of 
years, until a deal of blood-letting has brought the disease down.” 


INTRODUCTION 


XXIX 


“ July 30 , 1840 . 

“ I have been reading Allan Ramsay’s poems — the Ballantyne 
controversy — and a noble article in the British Critic on Pauper- 
ism, which has affected me extraordinarily ; likewise some 
French novels — noble occupation for grey-headed fathers of 
families. How happy are those who read to instruct themselves 
— yes, besides, I have read Ranke’s ‘ History of the Popes ’ (in 
the way of business). It is a great book, and may be read with 
profit by some persons who wonder how other persons can talk 
about the ‘ beautiful Roman Catholic Church,’ in whose bosom 
repose so many saints and sages ! Saints and sages do sleep 
there and everywhere under God’s sunshine, I hope.” 

“ J. Allen sent missy a book of Scripture prints, those from 
Mant’s Bible, but a great scene took place when she came on 
Abraham sacrificing Isaac : she cried and screamed, and said, 
‘ No, he should not kill poor lickle boy,’ and tried to pull Isaac 
off the altar. Truly out of the mouths of babes and sucklings 
comes wisdom.” 

“ Margate, 1840 . 

“ I think Durham’s death is a piece of good fortune for 
Charles Buller, who has been weighed down by the corpse, as 
it were, of that man. What the Times says of him is very just, 
as far as the appreciation of character goes — not so as to the 
Canada failure — the rascally Whigs and Tories swamped that 
between them. When is the day to come when those two hum- 
bugs are to disappear from among us? Don’t be astonished. 
I’m not a Chartist, only a' Republican. I would like to see all 
men equal, and this bloated aristocracy blasted to the wings of 
all the winds. It has been good and useful up to the present 
time, nay, for a little time longer perhaps — just up to the minute 
when the great lion shall shake his mane and scatter all these 
absurd insects out of it. 

“ What stuff to write to be sure. But I see how in every 
point of morals the aristocracy is cursing the country. 

“ Oh for a few enlightened Republicans, men to say their say 
honestly, and dare to do and say the truth. We are living in 
wonderful times, madam, and who knows — may see great things 
done : but no physical force — the bigotry of that and of the pres- 
ent Chartist leaders is greater than the bigotry we suffer under. 


XXX 


BARKY LYNDON, ETC. 


“ How delightfully quiet this night is ! the ripple of the 
waters is most melodious, the gas - lamps round the little bay 
look as if they were sticking flaming swords into it ! What is it 
that sets one’s spirits chirping so, on getting out from London ?” 

After my mother’s illness the little household in Coram Street 
was broken up, and we all went abroad. I can remember my 
father punishing me as we travelled to Paris all night in the 
creaking diligence. I wanted to get out and walk, and they 
wouldn’t let me, and I cried on and on. There was a man in a 
cap I didn’t like, with his nose against the window. He frowned 



FATHER AND LITTLE GIRL. 

at me when I looked at him. My father was in the corner of 
the diligence opposite to me and the nurse and the baby, and 
he struck a match, and lit up a little lantern, which he held up 
to amuse me. But I only cried the louder. Then he said grave- 
ly, “ If you go on crying you will wake the baby, and I shall 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXI 


put out the candle so I went on crying, and I woke the baby, 
who began to cry too ; then the man in the corner scolded 
again, and my father blew out the lantern, and suddenly all was 
dark. I could not believe it, never before had I been so se- 
verely punished. “Light it, light it,” I screamed. “No,” 
said my father’s voice in the dark, “ I told you I should put the 
light out if you cried.” All the time the man in the corner 
kept on moaning and complaining, and the diligence jogged on, 
and I suppose I went to sleep on my father’s knee at last. I re- 
member hearing him long afterwards speak of that dreadful 
night, and of the angry Frenchman, who kept saying, “J’ai la 
fievre, mon Dieu. J’ai la fievre.” The next thing I remember 
is arriving quite cheerful at Paris, and my grandmother and my 
grandfather coming down the curling stairs to meet us in the 
early morning and opening their arms to us all. 

Is this a preface to “ Barry Lyndon ” and “ The Second Fu- 
neral of Napoleon ”? It will do as well as any other, to show 
how, and under what difficulties, the books of that time were 
written ! 

Napoleon always haunted my father’s imagination (the Corsi- 
can Ogre who ate little children). The history of the second 
funeral was eventually told by the same little boy who once 
peeped at the great prisoner on his lonely rock, and who drew 
the very early design of the battle of Jena given on the follow- 
ing page. 

“ Comic Tales and Sketches,” by M. A. Titmarsh, ap- 
peared in 1841. M. A. Titmarsh was, as we know, the 
talented first cousin of Samuel Titmarsh of “ The Hoggarty 
Diamond.” Michael Angelo, the artist, drew the pictures to 
“ The Hoggarty Diamond ” when it came out in Fraser ; and 
he was a poet as well as an artist. “ The Chronicle of the 
Drum” was published by him with “The Second Funeral of 
Napoleon ” (after an interlude of George Fitzboodle and his 
stories of “Men’s Wives”). “The Irish Sketch Book” was 
illustrated by Michael Angelo, but it was Fitzboodle who wrote 
“ Barry Lyndon,” to which there were no pictures. There are 
various legends concerning Titmarsh, who at one time talked 


XXX11 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 

of suicide indeed, in consequence of some attacks in the daily 
press, and caused much anxiety to his landlady, but this was 
happily only a passing excitement. 



Mr. Titmarsh had previously illustrated the “ Paris Sketch 
Book” when it came out in 1840 . 


INTRODUCTION 


xxxiii 


For the next few years my father was constantly in Paris, 
and we lived with our grandparents. 


W. M. T. to his Aunt, Mrs. Ritchie. 

“A VlLLIERS LE Bel pres Sarcelles, 

“ October 1843, 81 Champs Elysees. 

“ My dear Aunt, — Charlotte’s handwriting in William’s let- 
ter had a very reproachful look, and seemed to say, Here is a 
letter for you, but you don’t deserve it. I ought to have writ- 
ten to you weeks ago, to explain how it was that my little ones 
didn’t come to pay their promised visit to you. They are all at 
Montmorenci, where they have been for this month past ; and 
as I go thither once or twice a week, and lose a whole day in 
the journey to and fro, I can’t afford to give up more of my 
precious time, but am obliged to remain at home for the rest of 
the week working, or pretending to work. I believe I am writ- 
ing a novel, and shall be delighted when the day arrives when 
you shall be able to read this remarkable production. . . . 

“ William sends me very good news about £500 which a man 
owes me at Calcutta. He, the debtor, sent a little remittance 
two months since, and where is it now ? — at the bottom of the 
Red Sea with the Memnon. It is my usual luck. However, the 
remittance is only delayed, and some months hence I shall get 
the duplicate of the bill. I hope the winter will bring you back 
to Paris. The view from your windows in the Rue d’Aguesseau 
is not very brilliant, but after all, a good cheerful landscape of 
chimney-pots and walls is a better look-out than naked trees and 
muddy lanes. — Yours, dear Aunt, affectionately, 

“ W. M. T.” 

My father once said to me when I was a girl : “ You needn’t 
read ‘ Barry Lyndon,’ you won’t like it.” 

Indeed it is scarcely a book to like , but one to admire and to 
wonder at for its consummate power and mastery. The book 
was written in 1843-44, and should by rights be printed with 
the “ Journey from Cornhill to Cairo,” but for convenience the 
travels are published together, and “ Barry ” is included in this 
volume. 


XXXIV 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


Barry Lyndon himself must have been born somewhere about 
1742 ; and much of his early life was passed abroad, in the Ger- 
man army. He tells his own story so as to enlist every sym- 
pathy against himself, and yet all flows so plausibly, so glibly, 
that one can hardly explain how the effect is produced. From 
the very first sentence almost, one receives the impression of a 
lawless adventurer, brutal, heartless, with low instincts and rapid 
perceptions. Barry Lyndon, together with his own autobiog- 
raphy, gives a picture of the world in which he lives and brags, 
a picture so vivid, and present to one’s mind, that as one reads 
one almost seems to hear the tread of remorseless fate sounding 
through all the din and merriment. Take those descriptions of 
the Prussian army during the Seven Years’ War, and of that 
hand of man which weighs so heavily upon man — what a haunt- 
ing page in history ! Somewhere my father says he forgets 
dates and facts, but that he remembers impressions ; and one 
can realise what the impressions must have been that went to 
the making of “ Barry Lyndon.” 

The story of Barry Lyndon’s marriage is evidently taken from 
a true history which concerns a noble family of which many 
strange legends are told. The family of Bowes dates from the 
Conquest, and we read that one of the ladies Strathmore was 
the sole heiress of this wealthy line. She was left a widow be- 
fore she was thirty, and had many suitors, for she was charm- 
ing as well as rich. This unfortunate lady was bullied into a 
marriage with a brutal adventurer, from whom she finally 
escaped by flight, barely saving her life. The story of her 
eldest son, who disappeared, and only came back after many 
years, is not less true. My father had a friend at Paris in those 
days, a Mr. Bowes, who may have first told him this history, of 
which the details are almost incredible, as quoted from the pa- 
pers of the time. 

Mr. Marzials, in his preface to a new edition of “ Barry Lyn- 
don,” says that he has tried to discover the source of another 
story to which allusion is made in the episode of Duke Victor 
and his Duchess. The very first entry in my father’s note-book 
for 1844 answers this query : — 

“ Jan, 4, 1844. — Read in a silly book called L* Empire a good 
story about the first K. of Wurtemberg’s wife ; killed by her 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXV 


husband for adultery. Frederic William, born in 1734 (?), in. 
in 1780 the Princess Caroline of Brunswick Wolfenbuttel, who 
died the 27th September 1788. For the rest of the storv see 
Z’ Empire ou dix ans sous Napoleon , par un Chambellan : Paris, 
Allardin, 1836; vol. i. 220.” 

The note-book goes on with various dates and memoranda 
which may interest readers of “ Barry Lyndon.” 

“Jan. 12, 1844. — Read Kenealy’s ‘ Life of Maginn’and Lever 
on Grant, and other magazinery. Maginn a famous subject for 
moralising. Wrote for Fraser till 5, and went to see Arnal in 
Uhomme blase . Quite tired and weary with writing, which the 
evening’s amusement did not cure. Wrote ‘ Barry Lyndon ’ for 
Fraser again — beginning, however, to flag. . . .” 

“Jan. 20. — In these days got through the fag-end of Chap, 
iv. of ‘Barry Lyndon’ with a great deal of dulness, unwilling- 
ness, and labour.” 

“Feb. 2. — Wrote all day for Punch ‘The next Revolution.’ ” 

“Feb. 17. — Passed the whole of these days (with the ex- 
ception of Wednesday and Thursday, when I wrote the Ameri- 
can letter) reading for ‘ Barry Lyndon,’ and writing, with ex- 
treme difficulty, a sheet.” 

He seems to have suffered physically from the task, for he 
goes on to say on the 21st : “ Wrote all day ‘ Barry Lyndon,’ at 
5 went out very tired, and came back still more tired at 9-j- . . . 
continual labour annoys and excites me too much.” 

In the spring he returned to England again, for there is an 
entry on the 5th of March : “ Came to my comfortable old quar- 
ters in Jermyn Street, and spent the evening at the Procters’, 
without any dinner, and without any sleep at night, in con- 
sequence, perhaps.” 

Except for a few engagements at Procters’, Buffers’, Kirwans’, 
Talfourds’, &c., there are no more notes tiff the 18th of July, 
when my father is stiff at work upon “ Barry Lyndon,” and 
reading “ Peregrine Pickle,” “ excellent for its liveliness and 
spirit, and wonderful for its atrocious vulgarity.” 

“Aug. 10. — Read for ‘ B. L.’ all the morning at the club, then 
walked — A pleasant dinner at Disraeli’s.” 

“Aug. 14. — At home all day drawing and dawdling, with 
‘ B. L.’ lying like a nightmare on my mind. Dined with Boxall. 


XXXVI 


BARRY LYNDON, ETC. 


In the evening to Mrs. Twiss’s music * — a pleasant party and 
pretty women.” 

“Aug. 19. — Wrote all day ‘Barry Lyndon.’ Dined with 
Bevan at the Reform Club, where I met Emerson Tennant and 
had much talk about a trip to the East.” 

“Aug. 20. — In the City again to arrange about the Eastern 
trip; wrote a little ‘Barry Lyndon’; dined with Quin at a 
party where Fitzgerald was in wonderful cue, but I was too 
much flustered myself thinking about the great voyage to enjoy 
the fun much.” 

The journey to the East comes with a happy break into all 
the work and the depression of the early months of 1844. It 
is true that “ Barry ” travelled with my father, “ hanging round 
his neck,” as he writes, and had to be written as well as other 
work that was promised, along the way ; yet a thousand new 
impressions and lights and visions came to distract the tired 
writer, and to revive his flagging spirits. I will not dwell here 
upon the journey which marks its own record in “ Cornhill to 
Cairo,” but I will give three dates noted in the diary for 1844 : 
“Malta, Nov. 1. — Wrote ‘Barry,’ but slowly and witli great 
difficulty.” Nov. 2nd. — “ Wrote ‘ Barry ’ with no more success 
than yesterday.” Nov. 3. — “Finished ‘Barry’ after great 
throes late at night.” 

A. 1. R. 


♦There is an absurd little family tradition connected with the name of 
Horace Twiss which used to amuse us all. One day that he was dining at 
the Mansion House my father saw the Lord Mayor nodding at him in a 
friendly sort of way. “ I know you,” said the Lord Mayor, “ Horace Twiss.” 
My father disclaimed, but the Lord Mayor went on insisting. It was finally 
explained that he had taken his guest for Mr. Charles Dickens, and that he 
was alluding in a complimentary (though somewhat devious) manner to 
“ Oliver Twist ” which had lately appeared. 


THE MEMOIRS 


OF 


BAERY LYNDON, Esq. 






THE MEMOIRS OF 


BARRY LYNDON, Esq. 

CHAPTER I 

MY PEDIGREE AND FAMILY-UNDERGO THE INFLUENCE 
OF THE TENDER PASSION 

S INCE the days of Adam, there has been hardly a mischief done 
in this world but a woman has been at the bottom of it. Ever 
since ours was a family (and that must be very near Adam’s 
time, — so old, noble, and illustrious are the Barrys, as everybody 
knows) women have played a mighty part with the destinies of 
our race. 

I presume that there is no gentleman in Europe that has not 
heard of the house of Barry of Barryogue, of the kingdom of Ireland, 
than which a more famous name is not to be found in Gwillim or 
D’Hozier ; and though, as a man of the world, I have learned to 
despise heartily the claims of some pretenders to high birth who 
have no more genealogy than the lacquey who cleans my boots, and 
though I laugh to utter scorn the boasting of many of my country- 
men, who are all for descending from kings of Ireland, and talk of 
a domain no bigger than would feed a pig as if it were a principality ; 
yet truth compels me to assert that my family was the noblest 
of the island, and, perhaps, of the universal world ; while their 
possessions, now insignificant and torn from us by war, by treachery, 
by the loss of time, by ancestral extravagance, by adhesion to the 
old faith and monarch, were formerly prodigious, and embraced 
many counties, at a time when Ireland was vastly more prosperous 
than now. I would assume the Irish crown over my coat-of-arms, 
but that there are so many silly pretenders to that distinction who 
bear it and render it common. 

Who knows, but for the fault of a woman, I might have been 
wearing it now ? You start with incredulity. I say, why not 1 


4 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Had there been a gallant chief to lead my countrymen, instead of j 
puling knaves who bent the knee to King Richard II., they might 1 
have been freemen ; had there been a resolute leader to meet the 1 
murderous ruffian Oliver Cromwell, we should have shaken off the 
English for ever. But there was no Barry in the field against the j 
usurper; on the contrary, my ancestor, Simon de Bary, came over ! 
with the first-named monarch, and married the daughter of the then 
King of Munster, whose sons in battle he pitilessly slew. 

In Oliver’s time it was too late for a chief of the name of Barry 
to lift up his war-cry against that of the murderous brewer. We 
were princes of the land no longer ; our unhappy race had lost its ! 
possessions a century previously, and by the most shameful treason. I 
This I know to be the fact, for my mother has often told me the i ; 
story, and besides had worked it in a worsted pedigree which hung 
up in the yellow saloon at Barryville where we lived. 

That very estate which the Lyndons now possess in Ireland was 
once the property of my race. Rory Barry of Barry ogue owned it 
in Elizabeth’s time, and half Munster beside. The Barry w'as 
always in feud with the O’Mahonys in those times ; and, as it 
happened, a certain English colonel passed through the former’s I 
country with a body of men-at-arms, on the very day when the 1 
O’Mahonys had made an inroad upon our territories, and carried off | 
a frightful plunder of our flocks and herds. 

This young Englishman, whose name was Roger Lyndon, Linden, j 
or Lyndaine, having been most hospitably received by the Barry, | 
and finding him just on the point of carrying an inroad into the 9 
O’Mahonys’ land, offered the aid of himself and his lances, and be- | 
haved himself so well, as it appeared, that the O’Mahonys were i 
entirely overcome, all the Barry’s property restored, and with it, 
says the old chronicle, twice as much of the O’Mahonys’ goods and j; 
cattle. 

It was the setting in of the winter season, and the young soldier | 
was pressed by the Barry not to quit his house of Barryogue, and 
remained there during several months, his men being quartered with 
Barry’s own gallowglasses, man by man in the cottages round about, j 
They conducted themselves, as is their wont, with the most in- 
tolerable insolence towards the Irish ; so much so, that fights and 
murders continually ensued, and the people vowed to destroy them. 

The Barry’s son (from whom I descend) was as hostile to the j 
English as any other man on his domain ; and, as they would not 
go when bidden, he and his friends consulted together and determined 
on destroying these English to a man. 

But they had let a woman into their plot, and this was the 
Barry’s daughter. She was in love with the English Lyndon, and ! 


MY ANCESTORS 


5 


broke the whole secret to him ; and the dastardly English prevented 
the just massacre of themselves by falling on the Irish, and destroy- 
ing Phaudrig Barry, my ancestor, and many hundreds of his men. 
The cross at Barry cross near Carrignadihioul is the spot where the 
odious butchery took place. 

Lyndon married the daughter of Roderick Barry, and claimed 
the estate which he left ; and though the descendants of Phaudrig 
were alive, as indeed they are in my person,* on appealing to the 
English courts, the estate was awarded to the Englishman, as has 
ever been the case where English and Irish were concerned. 

Thus, had it not been for the weakness of a woman, I should 
have been born to the possession of those very estates which after- 
wards came to me by merit, as you shall hear. But to proceed 
with my family history. 

My father was well known to the best circles in this kingdom as 
in that of Ireland, under the name of Roaring Harry Barry. He 
was bred like many other young sons of genteel families to the 
profession of the law, being articled to a celebrated attorney of 
Sackville Street in the city of Dublin ; and, from his great genius 
and aptitude for learning, there is no doubt he would have made 
an eminent figure in his profession, had not his social qualities, love 
of field-sports, and extraordinary graces of manner, marked him out 
for a higher sphere. While he was attorney’s clerk he kept seven 
racehorses, and hunted regularly both with the Kildare and Wicklow 
hunts ; and rode on his grey horse Endymion that famous match 
against Captain Punter, which is still remembered by lovers of the 
sport, and of which I caused a splendid picture to be made and hung 
over my dining-hall mantelpiece at Castle Lyndon. A year after- 
wards he had the honour of riding that very horse Endymion before 
his late Majesty King George II. at Newmarket, and won the plate 
there and the attention of the august sovereign. 

Although he was only the second son of our family, my dear 
father came naturally into the estate (now miserably reduced to 
<£400 a year) ; for my grandfather’s eldest son, Cornelius Barry 
(called the Chevalier Borgne, from a wound which he received in 
Germany), remained constant to the old religion in which our family 
was educated, and not only served abroad with credit, but against 
His Most Sacred Majesty George II. in the unhappy Scotch dis- 
turbances in ’45. We shall hear more of the Chevalier hereafter. 

For the conversion of my father I have to thank my dear mother, 
Miss Bell Brady, daughter of Ulysses Brady of Castle Brady, county 

* As we have never been able to find proofs of the marriage of my ancestor 
Phaudrig with his wife, I make no doubt that Lyndon destroyed the contract, 
and murdered the priest and witnesses of the marriage. — B. L. 


6 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Kerry, Esquire and J.P. She was the most beautiful woman of her 
day in Dublin, and universally called the Dasher there. Seeing her 
at the assembly, my father became passionately attached to her ; 
but her soul was above marrying a Papist or an attorney’s clerk ; 
and so for the love of her, the good old laws being then in force, 
my dear father slipped into my uncle Cornelius’s shoes and took the 
family estate. Besides the force of my mother’s bright eyes, several 
persons, and of the genteelest society too, contributed to this happy 
change ; and I have often heard my mother laughingly tell the story 
of my father’s recantation, which was solemnly pronounced at the 
tavern in the company of Sir Dick Ringwood, Lord Bagwig, Captain 
Punter, and two or three other young sparks of the town. Roaring 
Harry won three hundred pieces that very night at faro, and laid the 
necessary information the next morning against his brother ; but his 
conversion caused a coolness between him and my uncle Corney, who 
joined the rebels in consequence. 

This great difficulty being settled, my Lord Bagwig lent my 
father his own yacht, then lying at the Pigeon House, and the 
handsome Bell Brady was induced to run away with him to England, 
although her parents were against the match, and her lovers (as I 
have heard her tell many thousands of times) were among the most 
numerous and the most wealthy in all the kingdom of Ireland. 
They were married at the Savoy, and my grandfather dying very 
soon, Harry Barry, Esquire, took possession of his paternal property 
and supported our illustrious name with credit in London. He 
pinked the famous Count Tiercelin behind Montague House, he was 
a member of “ White’s,” and a frequenter of all the chocolate- 
houses ; and my mother, likewise, made no small figure. At length, 
after his great day of triumph before His Sacred Majesty at New- 
market, Harry’s fortune was just on the point of being made, for 
the gracious monarch promised to provide for him. But alas ! he 
was taken in charge by another monarch, whose will will have no 
delay or denial, — by Death, namely, who seized upon my father at 
Chester races, leaving me a helpless orphan. Peace be to his ashes ! 
He was not faultless, and dissipated all our princely family property ; 
but he was as brave a fellow as ever tossed a bumper or called a 
main, and he drove his coach-and-six like a man of fashion. 

I do not know whether his gracious Majesty was much affected 
by this sudden demise of my father, though my mother says he shed 
some royal tears on the occasion. But they helped us to nothing : 
and all that was found in the house for the wife and creditors was 
a purse of ninety guineas, which my dear mother naturally took, 
with the family plate, and my father’s wardrobe and her own ; and 
putting them into our great coach, drove off to Holyhead, whence she 


MY FATHER’S FUNERAL 


7 


took shipping for Ireland. My father’s body accompanied us in 
the finest hearse and plumes money could buy; for though the 
husband and wife had quarrelled repeatedly in life, yet at my father’s 
death his high-spirited widow forgot all her differences, gave him the 
grandest funeral that had been seen for many a day, and erected a 
monument over his remains (for which I subsequently paid), which 
declared him to be the wisest, purest, and most affectionate of men. 

In performing these sad duties over her deceased lord, the widow 
spent almost every guinea she had, and, indeed, would have spent 
a great deal more, had she discharged one-third of the demands 
which the ceremonies occasioned. But the people around our old 
house of Barryogue, although they did not like my father for his 
change of faith, yet stood by him at this moment, and were for 
exterminating the mutes sent by Mr. Plumer of London with the 
lamented remains. The monument and vault in the church were 
then, alas ! all that remained of my vast possessions ; for my father 
had sold every stick of the property to one Notley, an attorney, 
and we received but a cold welcome in his house — a miserable old 
tumble-down place it was.* 

The splendour of the funeral did not fail to increase the widow 
Barry’s reputation as a woman of spirit and fashion ; and when she 
wrote to her brother Michael Brady, that worthy gentleman im- 
mediately rode across the country to fling himself in her arms, and 
to invite her in his wife’s name to Castle Brady. 

Mick and Barry had quarrelled, as all men will, and very high 
words had passed between them during Barry’s courtship of Miss 
Bell. When he took her off, Brady swore he would never forgive 
Barry or Bell ; but coming to London in the year ’46, he fell in 
once more with Roaring Harry, and lived in his fine house in Clarges 
Street, and lost a few pieces to him at play, and broke a watchman’s 
head or two in his company, — all of which reminiscences endeared 
Bell and her son very much to the good-hearted gentleman, and he 
received us both with open arms. Mrs. Barry did not, perhaps 
wisely, at first make known to her friends what was her condition ; 
but arriving in a huge gilt coach with enormous armorial bearings, 
was taken by her sister-in-law and the rest of the county for a 
person of considerable property and distinction. 

For a time, then, and as was right and proper, Mrs. Barry gave 
the law at Castle Brady. She ordered the servants to and fro, 

* In another part of his memoir Mr. Barry will be found to describe this 
mansion as one of the most splendid palaces in Europe ; but this is a practice 
not unusual with his nation ; and with respect to the Irish principality claimed 
by him, it is known that Mr. Barry’s grandfather was an attorney and maker 
of his own fortune. 


8 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

and taught them, what indeed they much wanted, a little London 
neatness ; and “ English Redmond,” as I was called, was treated 
like a little lord, and had a maid and a footman to himself; and 
honest Mick paid their wages, — which was much more than he was 
used to do for his own domestics, — doing all in his power to make 
his sister decently comfortable under her afflictions. Mamma, in 
return, determined that, when her affairs were arranged, she would 
make her kind brother a handsome allowance for her son’s mainten- 
ance and her own ; and promised to have her handsome furniture 
brought over from Clarges Street to adorn the somewhat dilapidated 
rooms of Castle Brady. 

But it turned out that the rascally landlord seized upon every 
chair and table that ought by rights to have belonged to the widow. 
The estate to which I was heir was in the hands of rapacious 
creditors; and the only means of subsistence remaining to the 
widow and child was a rent-charge of £50 upon my Lord Bagwig’s 
property, who had many turf-dealings with the deceased. And so 
my dear mother’s liberal intentions towards her brother were of 
course never fulfilled. 

It must be confessed, very much to the discredit of Mrs. Brady 
of Castle Brady, that when her sister-in-law’s poverty was thus 
made manifest, she forgot all the respect which she had been 
accustomed to pay her, instantly turned my maid and man-servant 
out of doors, and told Mrs. Barry that she might follow them as 
soon as she chose. Mrs. Mick was of a low family, and a sordid 
way of thinking; and after about a couple of years (during which 
she had saved almost all her little income) the widow complied 
with Madam Brady’s desire. At the same time, giving way to a 
just, though prudently dissimulated resentment, she made a vow 
that she would never enter the gates of Castle Brady while the lady 
of the house remained alive within them. 

She fitted up her new abode with much economy and consider- 
able taste, and never, for all her poverty, abated a jot of the dignity 
which was her due, and which all the neighbourhood awarded to 
her. How, indeed, could they refuse respect to a lady who had 
lived in London, frequented the most fashionable society there, and 
had been presented (as she solemnly declared) at Court? These 
advantages gave her a right which seems to be pretty unsparingly 
exercised in Ireland by those natives who have it, — the right of 
looking down with scorn upon all persons who have not had the 
opportunity of quitting the mother-country and inhabiting England 
for a while. Thus, whenever Madam Brady appeared abroad in a 
new dress, her sister-in-law would say, “ Poor creature ! how can it 
be expected that she should know anything of the fashion ? ” And 


MY WIDOWED MOTHER 9 

though pleased to he called the handsome widow, as she was, Mrs. 
Barry was still better pleased to be called the English widow. 

Mrs. Brady, for her part, was not slow to reply : she used to say 
that the defunct Barry was a bankrupt and a beggar ; and as for 
the fashionable society which he saw, lie saw it from my Lord Bagr 
wig’s side-table, whose flatterer and hanger-on he was known to be. 
Regarding Mrs. Barry, the lady of Castle Brady would make insinu- 
ations still more painful. However, why should we allude to these 
charges, or rake up private scandal of a hundred years old ? It was 
in the reign of George II. that the above-named personages lived and 
quarrelled ; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are 
all equal now ; and do not the Sunday papers and the courts of law 
supply us every week with more novel and interesting slander ? 

At any rate, it must be allowed that Mrs. Barry, after her 
husband’s death and her retirement, lived in such a way as to defy 
slander. For whereas Bell Brady had been the gayest girl in the 
whole county of Wexford, with half the bachelors at her feet, and 
plenty of smiles and encouragement for every one of them, Bell Barry 
adopted a dignified reserve that almost amounted to pomposity, and 
was as starch as any Quakeress. Many a man renewed his offers 
to the widow, who had been smitten by the charms of the spinster ; 
but Mrs. Barry refused all offers of marriage, declaring that she lived 
now for her son only, and for the memory of her departed saint. 

“ Saint forsooth ! ” said ill-natured Mrs. Brady. “ Harry Barry 
was as big a sinner as ever was known ; and ’tis notorious that he 
and Bell hated each other. If she won’t marry now, depend on it, 
the artful woman has a husband in her eye for all that, and only 
waits until Lord Bagwig is a widower.” 

And suppose she did, what then? Was not the widow of a 
Barry fit to marry with any lord of England ? and was it not always 
said that a woman was to restore the fortunes of the Barry family ? 
If my mother fancied that she was to be that woman, I think it was 
a perfectly justifiable notion on her part ; for the Earl (my godfather) 
was always most attentive to her : I never knew how deeply this 
notion of advancing my interests in the world had taken possession 
of mamma’s mind, until his Lordship’s marriage in the year ’57 with 
Miss Goldmore, the Indian nabob’s rich daughter. 

Meanwhile we continued to reside at Barryville, and, considering 
the smallness of our income, kept up a wonderful state. Of the 
half-dozen families that formed the congregation at Brady’s Town, 
there was not a single person whose appearance was so respect- 
able as that of the widow, who, though she always dressed in 
mourning, in memory of her deceased husband, took care that her 
garments should be made so as to set off her handsome person to the 


10 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

greatest advantage ; and, indeed, I think, spent six hours out of 
every day in the week in cutting, trimming, and altering them to 
the fashion. She had the largest of hoops and the handsomest of 
furbelows, and once a month (under my Lord Bagwig’s cover) would 
come a letter from London containing the newest accounts of the 
fashions there. Her complexion was so brilliant that she had no 
call to use rouge, as was the mode in those days. No, she left red 
and white, she said (and hence the reader may imagine how the two 
ladies hated each other) to Madam Brady, whose yellow complexion 
no plaster could alter. In a word, she was so accomplished a beauty, 
that all the women in the country took pattern by her, and the young 
fellows from ten miles round would ride over to Castle Brady church 
to have the sight of her. 

But if (like every other woman that ever I saw or read of) she 
was proud of her beauty, to do her justice she was still more proud 
of her son, and has said a thousand times to me that I was the 
handsomest young fellow in the world. This is a matter of taste. 
A man of sixty may, however, say what he was at fourteen without 
much vanity, and I must say I think there was some cause for my 
mother’s opinion. The good soul’s pleasure was to dress me ; and 
on Sundays and holidays I turned out in a velvet coat with a 
silver-hilted sword by my side and a gold garter at my knee, as fine 
as any lord in the land. My mother worked me several most 
splendid waistcoats, and I had plenty of lace for my ruffles, and a 
fresh riband to my hair, and as we walked to church on Sundays, 
even envious Mrs. Brady was found to allow that there was not a 
prettier pair in the kingdom. 

Of course, too, the lady of Castle Brady used to sneer, because 
on these occasions a certain Tim, who used to be called my valet, 
followed me and my mother to church, carrying a huge prayer- 
book and a cane, and dressed in the livery of one of our own fine 
footmen from Clarges Street, which, as Tim was a bandy-shanked 
little fellow, did not exactly become him. But, though poor, we 
were gentlefolks, and not to be sneered out of these becoming append- 
ages to our rank; and so would march up the aisle to our pew 
with as much state and gravity as the Lord Lieutenant’s lady and 
son might do. When there, my mother would give the responses 
and amens in a loud dignified voice that was delightful to hear, and, 
besides, had a fine loud voice for singing, which art she had per- 
fected in London under a fashionable teacher ; and she would exercise 
her talent in such a way that you would hardly hear any other voice 
of the little congregation which chose to join in the psalm. In fact, 
my mother had great gifts in every way, and believed herself to be 
one of the most beautiful, accomplished, and meritorious persons in 


BARRYVILLE 


11 


the world. Often and often has she talked to me and the neigh- 
bours regarding her own humility and piety, pointing them out in 
such a way that I would defy the most obstinate to disbelieve her. 

When w T e left Castle Brady we came to occupy a house in 
Brady’s Town, which mamma christened Barryville. I confess it 
was but a small place, but, indeed, we made the most of it. I have 
mentioned the family pedigree which hung up in the drawing-room, 
which mamma called the yellow saloon, and my bedroom was called 
the pink bedroom, and hers the orange-tawny apartment (how well 
I remember them all !) ; and at dinner-time Tim regularly rang a 
great bell, and we each had a silver tankard to drink from, and 
mother boasted with justice that I had as good a bottle of claret by 
my side as any squire of the land. So indeed I had, but I was not, 
of course, allowed at my tender years to drink any of the wine; 
which thus attained a considerable age, even in the decanter. 

Uncle Brady (in spite of the family quarrel) found out the 
above fact one day by calling at Barryville at dinner-time, and 
unluckily tasting the liquor. You should have seen how he 
sputtered and made faces ! But the honest gentleman was not par- 
ticular about his wine, or the company in which he drank it. He 
would get drunk, indeed, with the parson or the priest indifferently ; 
with the latter, much to my mother’s indignation, for, as a true 
blue Nassauite, she heartily despised all those of the old faith, and 
would scarcely sit down in the room with a benighted Papist. But 
the squire had no such scruples ; he was, indeed, one of the easiest, 
idlest, and best-natured fellows that ever lived, and many an hour 
would he pass with the lonely widow when he was tired of Madam 
Brady at home. He liked me, he said, as much as one of his own 
sons, and at length, after the widow had held out for a couple of 
years, she agreed to allow me to return to the castle ; though, for 
herself, she resolutely kept the oath which she had made with 
regard to her sister-in-law. 

The very first day I returned to Castle Brady my trials may be 
said, in a manner, to have begun. My cousin, Master Mick, a 
huge monster of nineteen (who hated me, and I promise you I 
returned the compliment), insulted me at dinner about my mother’s 
poverty, and made all the girls of the family titter. So when we 
went to the stables, whither Mick always went for his pipe of 
tobacco after dinner, I told him a piece of my mind, and there was 
a fight for at least ten minutes, during which I stood to him like 
a man, and blacked his left eye, though I was myself only twelve 
years old at the time. Of course he beat me, but a beating makes 
only a small impression on a lad of that tender age, as I had proved 
many times in battles with the ragged Brady’s Town boys before, 


12 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

not one of whom, at my time of life, was my match. My uncle 
was very much pleased when he heard of my gallantry ; my cousin 
Nora brought brown paper and vinegar for my nose, and I went 
home that night with a pint of claret under my girdle, not a little 
proud, let me tell you, at having held my own against Mick so long. 

And though he persisted in his bad treatment of me, and used 
to cane me whenever I fell in his way, yet I was very happy now 
at Castle Brady with the company there, and my cousins, or some 
of them, and the kindness of my uncle, with whom I became a 
prodigious favourite. He bought a colt for me, and taught me to 
ride. He took me out coursing and fowling, and instructed me to 
shoot flying. And at length I was released from Mick’s persecution, 
for his brother, Master Ulick, returning from Trinity College, and 
hating his elder brother, as is mostly the way in families of fashion, 
took me under his protection ; and from that time, as Ulick was a 
deal bigger and stronger than Mick, I, English Redmond, as I was 
called, was left alone ; except when the former thought fit to thrash 
me, which he did whenever he thought proper. 

Nor was my learning neglected in the ornamental parts, for I 
had an uncommon natural genius for many things, and 'soon topped 
in accomplishments most of the persons around me. I had a quick 
ear and a fine voice, which my mother cultivated to the best of her 
power, and she taught me to step a minuet gravely and gracefully, 
and thus laid the foundation of my future success in life. The 
common dances I learned (as, perhaps, I ought not to confess) in 
the servants’ hall, which, you may be sure, was never without a 
piper, and where I was considered unrivalled both at a hornpipe 
and a jig. 

In the matter of book-learning, I had always an uncommon 
taste for reading plays and novels, as the best part of a gentle- 
man’s polite education, and never let a pedlar pass the village, if 
I had a penny, without having a ballad or two from him. As for 
your dull grammar, and Greek and Latin and stuff, I have always 
hated them from my youth upwards, and said, very unmistakably, 
I would have none of them. 

This I proved pretty clearly at the age of thirteen, when my 
aunt Biddy Brady’s legacy of £100 came in to mamma, who thought 
to employ the sum on my education, and sent me to Doctor Tobias 
Tickler’s famous academy at Ballywhacket — Backwhacket, as my 
uncle used to call it. But six weeks after I had been consigned 
to his reverence, I suddenly made my appearance again at Castle 
Brady, having walked forty miles from the odious place, and left 
the Doctor in a state near upon apoplexy. The fact was, that at 
taw, prison-bars, or boxing, I was at the head of the school, but 


13 


I SILENCE DR. JOHNSON 

could not be brought to excel in the classics; and after having 
been flogged seven times without its doing me the least good in 
my Latin, I refused to submit altogether (finding it useless) to an 
eighth application of the rod. “Try some other way, sir,” said I, 
when he was for horsing me once more ; but he wouldn’t : whereon, 
and to defend myself, I flung a slate at him, and knocked down a 
Scotch usher with a leaden inkstand. All the lads huzzaed at this, 
and some of the servants wanted to stop me; but taking out a 
large clasp-knife that my cousin Nora had given me, I swore I 
would plunge it into the waistcoat of the first man who dared to 
balk me, and faith they let me pass on. I slept that night twenty 
miles off Ballywhacket, at the house of a cottier, who gave me 
potatoes and milk, and to whom I gave a hundred guineas after, 
when I came to visit Ireland in my days of greatness. I wish I 
had the money now. But what’s the use of regret ? I have had 
many a harder bed than that I shall sleep on to-night, and many 
a scantier meal than honest Phil Murphy gave me on the evening 
I ran away from school. So six weeks’ was all the schooling I ever 
got. And I say this to let parents know the value of it ; for though 
I have met more learned bookworms in the world, especially a great 
hulking, clumsy, blear-eyed old doctor, whom they called Johnson, 
and who lived in a court off Fleet Street, in London, yet I pretty 
soon silenced him in an argument (at “ Button’s Coffee-house ”) ; 
and in that, and in poetry, and what I call natural philosophy, or 
the science of life, and in riding, music, leaping, the small-sword, 
the knowledge of a horse, or a main of cocks, and the manners of 
an accomplished gentleman and a man of fashion, I may say for 
myself that Redmond Barry has seldom found his equal. “ Sir,” 
said I to Mr. Johnson, on the occasion I allude to — he was accom- 
panied by a Mr. Buswell of Scotland, and I was presented to the 
club by a Mr. Goldsmith, a countryman of my own — “ Sir,” said 
I, in reply to the schoolmaster’s great thundering quotation in 
Greek, “ you fancy you know a great deal more than me, because 
you quote your Aristotle and your Pluto ; but can you tell me which 
horse will win at Epsom Downs next week ? — Can you run six miles 
without breathing? — Can you shoot the ace of spades ten times 
without missing? If so, talk about Aristotle and Pluto to me.” 

“D’ye knaw who ye’re speaking to?” roared out the Scotch 
gentleman, Mr. Buswell, at this. 

“Hold your tongue, Mr. Boswell,” said the old schoolmaster. 

“ I had no right to brag of my Greek to the gentleman, and he has 
answered me very well.” 

“ Doctor,” says I, looking waggishly at him, “ do you know ever 
a rhyme for Axistotle ? ” 


14 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“Port, if you plaise,” says Mr. Goldsmith, laughing. Arid we 
had six rhymes for Aristotle before we left the coffee-house that 
evening. It became a regular joke afterwards when I told the 
story, and at “ White’s ” or the “ Cocoa-tree ” you would hear the 
wags say, “Waiter, bring me one of Captain Barry’s rhymes for 
Aristotle.” Once, when I was in liquor at the latter place, young 
Dick Sheridan called me a great Staggerite, a joke which I could 
never understand. But I am wandering from my story, and must 
get back to home, and dear old Ireland again. 

I have made acquaintance with the best in the land since, and 
my manners are such, I have said, as to make me the equal of them 
all ; and, perhaps, you will wonder how a country boy, as I w T as, 
educated amongst Irish squires, and their dependants of the stable 
and farm, should arrive at possessing such elegant manners as I was 
indisputably allowed to have. I had, the fact is, a very valuable 
instructor in the person of an old gamekeeper, who had served the 
French king at Fontenoy, and who taught me the dances and 
customs, and a smattering of the language of that country, with the 
use of the sword, both small and broad. Many and many a long 
mile I have trudged by his side as a lad, he telling me wonderful 
stories of the French king, and the Irish brigade, and Marshal Saxe, 
and the opera-dancers ; he knew my uncle, too, the Chevalier 
Borgne, and indeed had a thousand accomplishments which he 
taught me in secret. I never knew a man like him for making or 
throwing a fly, for physicking a horse, or breaking, or choosing one ; 
he taught me manly sports, from birds’-nesting upwards, and I 
always shall consider Phil Purcell as the very best tutor I could 
have had. His fault was drink, but for that I have always had a 
blind eye ; and he hated my cousin Mick like poison ; but I could 
excuse him that too. 

With Phil, and at the age of fifteen, I was a more accomplished 
man than either of my cousins ; and I think Nature had been also 
more bountiful to me in the matter of person. Some of the Castle 
Brady girls (as you shall hear presently) adored me. At fairs and 
races many of the prettiest lasses present said they wmuld like to 
have me for their bachelor ; and yet somehow, it must be confessed, 

I was not popular. 

In the first place, every one knew I was bitter poor; and I 
think, perhaps, it was my good mother’s fault that I was bitter 
proud too. I had a habit of boasting in company of my birth, and 
the splendour of my carriages, gardens, cellars, and domestics, and 
this before people who were perfectly aware of my real circum- 
stances. If it was boys, and they ventured to sneer, I would beat 
them, or die for it ; and many’s the time I’ve been brought home 


TiirM i? pap APTQ T O T T .TT 










15 


THE OBJECT OF MY FIRST LOVE 

■well-nigh killed by one or more of them, on what, when my mother 
asked me, I would say was “a family quarrel.” “Support your 
name with your blood, Reddy my boy,” would that saint say, with 
the tears in her eyes ; and so would she herself have done with her 
voice, ay, and her teeth and nails. 

Thus, at fifteen, there was scarce a lad of twenty, for half-a- 
dozen miles round, that I had not beat for one cause or other. 
There were the vicar’s two sons of Castle Brady — in course I could 
not associate with such beggarly brats as them, and many a battle 
did we have as to who should take the wall in Brady’s Town ; there 
was Pat Lurgan, the blacksmith’s son, who had the better of me 
four times before we came to the crowning fight, when I overcame 
him ; and I could mention a score more of my deeds of prowess in 
that way, but that fisticuff facts are dull subjects to talk of, and to 
discuss before high-bred gentlemen and ladies. 

However, there is another subject, ladies, on which I must 
discourse, and that is never out of place. Day and night you like 
to hear of it : young and old, you dream and think of it. Hand- 
some and ugly (and, faith, before fifty, I never saw such a thing as 
a plain woman), it’s the subject next to the hearts of all of you; 
and I think you guess my riddle without more trouble. Love ! 
sure the word is formed on purpose out of the prettiest soft vowels 
and consonants in the language, and he or she who does not care to 
read about it is not worth a fig, to my thinking. 

My uncle’s family consisted of ten children ; who, as is the 
custom in such large families, were divided into two camps, or 
parties; the one siding with their mamma, the other taking the 
part of my uncle in all the numerous quarrels which arose be- 
tween that gentleman and his lady. Mrs. Brady’s faction was 
headed by Mick, the eldest son, who hated me so, and disliked 
his father for keeping him out of his property : while Ulick, 
the second brother, was his father’s own boy; and, in revenge, 
Master Mick was desperately afraid of him. I need not mention 
the girls’ names ; I had plague enough with them in after-life, 
Heaven knows ; and one of them was the cause of all my early 
troubles : this was (though to be sure all her sisters denied it) the 
belle of the family, Miss Honoria Brady by name. 

She said she was only nineteen at the time ; but I could read 
the fly-leaf in the family Bible as well as another (it was one of the 
three books which, with the backgammon-board, formed my uncle’s 
library), and know that she was bom in the year ’37, and christened 
by Doctor Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s, Dublin : hence she was 
three-and- twenty years old at the time she and I were so much 
together. 


16 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

When I come to think about her now, I know she never could 
have been handsome ; for her figure was rather of the fattest, and 
her mouth of the widest ; she was freckled over like a partridge’s 
egg, and her hair was the colour of a certain vegetable which we 
eat with boiled beef, to use the mildest term. Often and often 
would my dear mother make these remarks concerning her ; but I 
did not believe them then, and somehow had gotten to think Honoria 
an angelical being, far above all the other angels of her sex. 

And as we know very well that a lady who is skilled in dancing 
or singing never can perfect herself without a deal of study in private, 
and that the song or the minuet which is performed with so much 
graceful ease in the assembly-room has not been acquired without 
vast labour and perseverance in private; so it is with the dear 
creatures who are skilled in coquetting. Honoria, for instance, was 
always practising, and she would take poor me to rehearse her accom- 
plishment upon ; or the exciseman, when he came his rounds, or the 
steward, or the poor curate, or the young apothecary’s lad from 
Brady’s Town : whom I recollect beating once for that very reason. 
If he is alive now I make him my apologies. Poor fellow ! as if it 
was his fault that he should be a victim to the wiles of one of the 
greatest coquettes (considering her obscure life and rustic breeding) 
in the world. 

If the truth must be told — and every w r ord of this narrative of 
my life is of the most sacred veracity — my passion for Nora began 
in a very vulgar and unromantic way. I did not save her life ; on 
the contrary, I once very nearly killed her, as you shall hear. I 
did not behold her by moonlight playing on the guitar, or rescue 
her from the hands of ruffians, as Alfonso does Lindamira in the 
novel ; but one day after dinner at Brady’s Town, in summer, going 
into the garden to pull gooseberries for my dessert, and thinking 
only of gooseberries, I pledge my honour, I came upon Miss Nora 
and one of her sisters, with whom she was friends at the time, who 
were both engaged in the very same amusement. 

“ What’s the Latin for gooseberry, Redmond 1 ” says she. She 
was always “ poking her fun,” as the Irish phrase it. 

“ I know the Latin for goose,” says I. 

“ And what’s that 1 ” cries Miss Mysie, as pert as a peacock. 

“ Bo to you ! ” says I (for I had never a want of wit) ; and so 
we fell to work at the gooseberry-bush, laughing and talking as 
happy as might be. In the course of our diversion Nora managed 
to scratch her arm, and it bled, and she screamed, and it was 
mighty round and white, and I tied it up, and I believe was 
permitted to kiss her hand ; and though it was as big and clumsy 
a hand as ever you saw, yet, I thought the favour the most ravish- 


MILITARY ARDOUR 17 

ing one that was ever conferred upon me, and went home in a 
rapture. 

I was much too simple a fellow to disguise any sentiment I 
chanced to feel in those days ; and not one of the eight Castle 
Brady girls but was soon aware of my passion, and joked and com- 
plimented Nora about her bachelor. 

The torments of jealousy the cruel coquette made me endure 
were horrible. Sometimes she would treat me as a child, sometimes 
as a man. She would always leave me if ever there came a stranger 
to the house. 

“For after all, Redmond,” she would say, “you are but fifteen, 
and you haven’t a guinea in the world.” At which I would swear 
that I would become the greatest hero ever known out of Ireland, 
and vow that before I was twenty I would have money enough to 
purchase an estate six times as big as Castle Brady. All which 
vain promises, of course, I did not keep ; but I make no doubt 
they influenced me in my very early life, and caused me to do those 
great actions for which I have been celebrated, and which shall be 
narrated presently in order. 

I must tell one of them, just that my dear young lady readers 
may know what sort of a fellow Redmond Barry was, and what a 
courage and undaunted passion he had. I question whether any 
of the jenny-jessamines of the present day would do half as much 
in the face of danger. 

About this time, it must be premised, the United Kingdom was 
in a state of great excitement from the threat generally credited of 
a French invasion. The Pretender was said to be in high favour 
at Versailles, a descent upon Ireland was especially looked to, and 
the noblemen and people of condition in that and all other parts 
of the kingdom showed their loyalty by raising regiments of horse 
and foot to resist the invaders. Brady’s Town sent a company 
to join the Kilwangan regiment, of which Master Mick was the 
captain ; and we had a letter from Master Ulick at Trinity College, 
stating that the University had also formed a regiment, in which 
he had the honour to be a corporal. How I envied them both ! 
especially that odious Mick, as I saw him in his laced scarlet coat, 
with a riband in his hat, march off at the head of his men. He, 
the poor spiritless creature, was a captain, and I nothing, — I who 
felt I had as much courage as the Duke of Cumberland himself, 
and felt, too, that a re/I jacket would mightily become me ! My 
mother said I was too young to join the new regiment; but the 
fact was, that it was she herself who was too poor, for the cost 
of a new uniform would have swallowed up half her year’s income, 
and she would only have her boy appear in a way suitable to his 


18 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

birth, riding the finest of racers, dressed in the best of clothes, and 
keeping the genteelest of company. 

Well, then, the whole country was alive with war’s alarums, the 
three kingdoms ringing with military music, and every man of merit 
paying his devoirs at the court of Bellona, whilst poor I was obliged 
to stay at home in my fustian jacket and sigh for fame in secret. 
Mr. Mick came to and fro from the regiment, and brought numerous 
of his comrades with him. Their costume and swaggering airs filled 
me with grief, and Miss Nora’s unvarying attentions to them served 
to make me half wild. No one, however, thought of attributing 
this sadness to the young lady’s score, but rather to my disappoint- 
ment at not being allowed to join the military profession. 

Once the officers of the Fencibles gave a grand ball at Kilwangan, 
to which, as a matter of course, all the ladies of Castle Brady (and 
a pretty ugly coachful they were) were invited. I knew to what 
tortures the odious little flirt of a Nora would put me with her 
eternal coquetries with the officers, and refused for a long time to 
be one of the party to the ball But she had a way of conquering 
me, against which all resistance of mine was in vain. She vowed 
that riding in a coach always made her ill. “ And how can I go 
to the ball,” said she, “ unless you take me on Daisy behind you 
on the pillion ? ” Daisy was a good blood-mare of my uncle’s, and 
to such a proposition I could not for my soul say no; so we rode 
in safety to Kilwangan, and I felt myself as proud as any prince 
when she promised to dance a country-dance with me. 

When the dance was ended, the little ungrateful flirt informed 
me that she had quite forgotten her engagement ; she had actually 
danced the set with an Englishman ! I have endured torments in 
my life, but none like that. She tried to make up for her neglect, 
but I would not. Some of the prettiest girls there offered to 
console me, for I was the best dancer in the room. I made one 
attempt, but was too wretched to continue, and so remained alone 
all night in a state of agony. I would have played, but I had no 
money ; only the gold piece that my mother bade me always keep 
in my purse as a gentleman should. I did not care for drink, or 
know the dreadful comfort of it in those days ; but I thought of 
killing myself and Nora, and most certainly of making away with 
Captain Quin ! 

At last, and at morning, the ball was over. The rest of our 
ladies went off in the lumbering creaking old coach; Daisy was 
brought out, and Miss Nora took her place behind me, which I let 
her do without a word. But we were not half a mile out of town 
when she began to try with her coaxing and blandishments to dis- 
sipate my ill-humour. 


SADDLE AND PILLION 19 

“Sure it’s a bitter night, Redmond, dear, and you’ll catch cold 
without a handkerchief to your neck.” To this sympathetic remark 
from the pillion, the saddle made no reply. 

“ Did you and Miss Clancy have a pleasant evening, Redmond ? 
You were together, I saw, all night.” To this the saddle only 
replied by grinding his teeth, and giving a lash to Daisy. 

“ 0 mercy ! you’ll make Daisy rear and throw me, you careless 
creature you : and you know, Redmond, I’m so timid.” The pillion 
had by this got her arm round the saddle’s waist, and perhaps gave 
it the gentlest squeeze in the world. 

“ I hate Miss Clancy, you know I do ! ” answers the saddle ; 
“and I only danced with her because — because — the person with 
whom I intended to dance chose to be engaged the whole night.” 

“ Sure there were my sisters,” said the pillion, now laughing 
outright in the pride of her conscious superiority ; “ and for me, my 
dear, I had not been in the room five minutes before I was engaged 
for every single set.” 

“Were you obliged to dance five times with Captain Quin'?” 
said I ; and 0 strange delicious charm of coquetry, I do believe 
Miss Nora Brady at twenty-three years of age felt a pang of delight 
in thinking that she had so much power over a guileless lad of 
fifteen. 

Of course she replied that she did not care a fig for Captain 
Quin : that he danced prettily, to be sure, and was a pleasant rattle 
of a man ; that he looked well in his regimentals too ; and if he 
chose to ask her to dance, how could she refuse him ? 

“ But you refused me, Nora.” 

“ Oh ! I can dance with you any day,” answered Miss Nora, 
with a toss of her head ; “ and to dance with your cousin at a ball, 
looks as if you could find no other partner. Besides,” said Nora — 
and this was a cruel, unkind cut, which showed what a power she 
had over me, and how mercilessly she used it, — “ besides, Redmond, 
Captain Quin’s a man, and you are only a boy ! ” 

“ If ever I meet him again,” I roared out with an oath, “ you 
shall see which is the best man of the two. I’ll fight him with 
sword or with pistol, captain as he is. A man indeed ! I’ll fight 
any man — every man ! Didn’t I stand up to Mick Brady when I 
was eleven years old ? — Didn’t I beat Tom Sullivan, the great hulk- 
ing brute, who is nineteen 1 ? — Didn’t I do for the Scotch usher? Oh, 
Nora, it’s cruel of you to sneer at me so ! ” 

But Nora was in the sneering mood that night, and pursued her 
sarcasms ; she pointed out that Captain Quin was already known as 
a valiant soldier, famous as a man of fashion in London, and that it 
was mighty well of Redmond to talk and boast of beating ushers 


20 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

and farmers’ boys, but to fight an Englishman was a very different 

matter. . 

Then she fell to talk of the invasion, and of military matters in 
general ; of King Frederick (who was called, in those days, the 
Protestant hero), of Monsieur Thurot and his fleet, of Monsieur 
Conflans and his squadron, of Minorca, how it was attacked, and 
where it was \ we both agreed it must be in America, and hoped 
the French might be soundly beaten there. 

I sighed after a while (for I was beginning to melt), and said 
how much I longed to be a soldier ; on which Nora recurred to her 
infallible, “ Ah ! now, would you leave me, then ? But, sure, you’re 
not big enough for anything more than a little drummer.’ To 
which I replied, by sweariug that a soldier I would be, and a 
general too. 

As we were chattering in this silly way, we came to a place 
that has ever since gone by the name of Redmond’s Leap Bridge. 
It was an old high bridge, over a stream sufficiently deep and rocky, 
and as the mare Daisy with her double load was crossing this bridge, 
Miss Nora, giving a loose to her imagination, and still harping on 
the military theme (I would lay a wager that she was thinking of 
Captain Quin) — Miss Nora said, “ Suppose now, Redmond, you, 
who are such a hero, was passing over the bridge, and the inimy on 
the other side h ” 

“ I’d draw my sword, and cut my way through them.” 

“What, with me on the pillion'? Would you kill poor me 1 ?” 
(This young lady was perpetually speaking of “ poor me ! ”) 

“Well, then, I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d jump Daisy into 
the river, and swim you both across, where no enemy could follow 
us.” 

“ Jump twenty feet ! you wouldn’t dare to do any such thing on 
Daisy. There’s the Captain’s horse, Black George, I’ve heard say 
that Captain Qui ” 

She never finished the word, for maddened by the continual 
recurrence of that odious monosyllable, I shouted to her to “hold 
tight by my waist,” and, giving Daisy the spur, in a minute sprang 
with Nora over the parapet into the deep water below. I don’t 
know why, now — whether it was I wanted to drown myself and 
Nora, or to perform an act that even Captain Quin should crane 
at, or whether I fancied that the enemy actually was in front of us, 
I can’t tell now ; but over I went. The horse sank over his head, 
the girl screamed as she sank and screamed as she rose, and I landed 
her, half fainting, on the shore, where we were soon found by my 
uncle’s people, who returned on hearing the screams. I went home, 
and was ill speedily of a fever, which kept me to my bed for six 



barry lyndon’s first love 




» 


21 


NEGLECTED BY NORA 

weeks ; and I quitted my couch prodigiously increased in stature, 
and, at the same time, still more violently in love than I had been 
even before. 

At the commencement of my illness, Miss Nora had been pretty 
constant in her attendance at my bedside, forgetting, for the sake of 
me, the quarrel between my mother and her family ; which my 
good mother was likewise pleased, in the most Christian manner, to 
forget. And, let me tell you, it was no small mark of goodness in 
a woman of her haughty disposition, who, as a rule, never forgave 
anybody, for my sake to give up her hostility to Miss Brady, and 
to receive her kindly. For, like a mad boy as I was, it was Nora 
I was always raving about and asking for ; I would only accept 
medicines from her hand, and would look rudely and sulkily upon 
the good mother, who loved me better than anything else in the 
world, and gave up even her favourite habits, and proper and be- 
coming jealousies, to make me happy. 

As I got well, I saw that Nora’s visits became daily more 
rare : u Why don’t she come ? ” I would say peevishly, a dozen 
times in the day; in reply to which query, Mrs. Barry would be 
obliged to make the best excuses she could find, — such as that Nora 
had sprained her ankle, or that they had quarrelled together, or 
some other answer to soothe me. And many a time has the good 
soul left me to go and break her heart in her own room alone, and 
come back with a smiling face, so that I should know nothing of 
her mortification. Nor, indeed, did I take much pains to ascertain 
it : nor should I, I fear, have been very much touched even had I 
discovered it; for the commencement of manhood, I think, is the 
period of our extremest selfishness. We get such a desire then to 
take wing and leave the parent-nest, that no tears, entreaties, or 
feelings of affection will counterbalance this overpowering longing 
after independence. She must have been very sad, that poor mother 
of mine — Heaven be good to her ! — at that period of my life ; and 
has often told me since what a pang of the heart it was to her to 
see all her care and affection of years forgotten by me in a minute, 
and for the sake of a little heartless jilt, who was only playing with 
me while she could get no better suitor. For the fact is, that during 
the last four weeks of my illness, no other than Captain Quin was 
staying at Castle Brady, and making love to Miss Nora in form. 
My mother did not dare to break this news to me, and you may be 
sure that Nora herself kept it a secret : it was only by chance that 
I discovered it. 

Shall I tell you how h The minx had been to see me one day, 
as I sat up in my bed, convalescent ; she was in such high spirits 
and so gracious and kind to me, that my heart poured over with 


22 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

joy and gladness, and I had even for my poor mother a kind word 
and a kiss that morning. I felt myself so well that I ate up a 
whole chicken, and promised my uncle, who had come to see me, 
to be ready against partridge-shooting, to accompany him, as my 
custom was. 

The next day but one was a Sunday, and I had a project for that 
day which I determined to realise, in spite of all the doctor’s and 
my mother’s injunctions : which were that I was on no account to 
leave the house, for the fresh air would be the death of me. 

Well, I lay wondrous quiet, composing a copy of verses, the first 
I ever made in my life ; and I give them here, spelt as I spelt them 
in those days when I knew no better. And though they are not so 
polished and elegant as “ Ardelia, ease a Love-sick Swain,” and 
“ When Sol bedecks the Daisied Mead,” and other lyrical effusions 
of mine which obtained me so much reputation in after life, I still 
think them pretty good for a humble lad of fifteen : — 

THE ROSE OF FLORA. 

Sent by a Young Gentleman of Quality to Miss Br-dy, of Castle Brady. 

On Brady’s tower there grows a flower, 

It is the loveliest flower that blows, — 

At Castle Brady there lives a lady 
(And how I love her no one knows) : 

Her name is Nora, and the goddess Flora, 

Presents her with this blooming rose. 

“ 0 Lady Nora,” says the goddess Flora, 

“I’ve many a rich and bright parterre ; 

In Brady’s towers there’s seven more flowers, 

But you’re the fairest lady there : 

Not all the county, nor Ireland’s bounty, 

Can projuice a treasure that’s half so fair ! ” 

What cheek is redder ? sure roses fed her ! 

Her hair is maregolds, and her eye of blew 

Beneath her eyelid is like the vi’let, 

That darkly glistens with gentle jew ! 

The lily’s nature is not surely whiter 
Than Nora’s neck is, — and* her arrums too. 


“Come, gentle Nora," says the goddess Flora, 
“ My dearest creature, take my advice. 
There is a poet, full well you know it, 

Who spends his lifetime in heavy sighs, — 
Young Redmond Barry, ’tis him you’ll marry, 
If rhyme and raisin you’d choose likewise.” 


23 


MY YOUTHFUL JEALOUSY 

On Sunday, no sooner was my mother gone to church, than I 
summoned Phil the valet, and insisted upon his producing my best 
suit, in which I arrayed myself (although I found that I had shot 
up so in my illness that the old dress was woefully too small for me), 
and, with my notable copy of verses in my hand, ran down towards 
Castle Brady, bent upon beholding my beauty. The air was so 
fresh and bright, and the birds sang so loud amidst the green trees, 
that I felt more elated than I had been for months before, and 
sprang down the avenue (my uncle had cut down every stick of the 
trees, by the way) as brisk as a young fawn. My heart began to 
thump as I mounted the grass-grown steps of the terrace, and passed 
in by the rickety hall-door. The master and mistress were at 
church, Mr. Screw the butler told me (after giving a start back at 
seeing my altered appearance, and gaunt lean figure), and so were 
six of the young ladies. 

“Was Miss Nora one?” I asked. 

“ No, Miss Nora was not one,” said Mr. Screw, assuming a very 
puzzled, and yet knowing look. 

“Where was she?” To this question he answered, or rather 
made believe to answer, with usual Irish ingenuity, and left me to 
settle whether she was gone to Kilwangan on the pillion behind her 
brother, or whether she and her sister had gone for a walk, or 
whether she was ill in her room; and while I was settling this 
query, Mr. Screw left me abruptly. 

I rushed away to the back court, where the Castle Brady 
stables stand, and there I found a dragoon whistling the “Roast 
Beef of Old England,” as he cleaned down a cavalry horse. “ Whose 
horse, fellow, is that ? ” cried I. 

“ Feller, indeed ! ” replied the Englishman : “ the horse belongs 
to my captain, and he’s a better feller nor you any day.” 

I did not stop to break his bones, as I would on another occa- 
sion, for a horrible suspicion had come across me, and I made for 
the garden as quickly as I could. 

I knew somehow what I should see there. I saw Captain Quin 
and Nora pacing the alley together. Her arm was under his, and 
the scoundrel was fondling and squeezing the hand which lay 
closely nestling against his odious waistcoat. Some distance beyond 
them was Captain Fagan of the Kilwangan regiment, who was 
paying court to Nora’s sister Mysie. 

I am not afraid of any man or ghost ; but as I saw that sight 
my knees fell a-trembling violently under me, and such a sickness 
came over me, that I was fain to sink down on the grass by 
a tree against which I leaned, and lost almost all consciousness 
for a minute or two : then I gathered myself up, and, advancing 


24* THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

towards the couple on the walk, loosened the blade of the little 
silver-hilted hanger I always wore in its scabbard; for I was 
resolved to pass it through the bodies of the delinquents, and spit 
them like two pigeons. I don’t tell what feelings else besides those 
of rage were passing through my mind ; what bitter blank disap- 
pointment, what mad wild despair, what a sensation as if the whole 
world was tumbling from under me; I make no doubt that my 
reader hath been jilted by the ladies many times, and so bid him 
recall his own sensations when the shock first fell upon him. 

“No, Norelia,” said the Captain (for it was the fashion of those 
times for lovers to call themselves by the most romantic names out 
of novels), “ except for you and four others, I vow before all the 
gods, my heart has never felt the soft flame ! ” 

“Ah! you men, you men, Eugenio!” said she (the beast’s 
name was John), “ your passion is not equal to ours. We are like — 
like some plant I’ve read of— we bear but one flower and then 
we die ! ” 

“Do you mean you never felt an inclination for another 1 ?” 
said Captain Quin. 

“ Never, my Eugenio, but for thee ! How can you ask a blush- 
ing nymph such a question ? ” 

“ Darling Norelia ! ” said he, raising her hand to his lips. 

I had a knot of cherry-coloured ribands, which she had given 
me out of her breast, and which somehow I always wore upon me. 
I pulled these out of my bosom, and flung them in Captain Quin’s 
face, and rushed out with my little sword drawn, shrieking, “ She’s 
a liar — she’s a liar, Captain Quin ! Draw, sir, and defend yourself, 
if you are a man ! ” and with these words I leapt at the monster, 
and collared him, while Nora made the air echo with her screams ; 
at the sound of which the other captain and Mysie hastened up. 

Although I sprang up like a weed in my illness, and was now 
nearly attained to my full growth of six feet, yet I was but a lath 
by the side of the enormous English captain, who had calves and 
shoulders such as no chairman at Bath ever boasted. He turned 
very red, and then exceedingly pale at my attack upon him, and 
slipped back and clutched at his sword — when Nora, in an agony of 
terror, flung herself round him, screaming, “ Eugenio ! Captain 
Quin, for Heaven’s sake spare the child — he is but an infant.” 

“And ought to be whipped for his impudence,” said the Captain; 
“but never fear, Miss Brady, I shall not touch him; your favourite 
is safe from me.” So saying, he stooped down and picked up the 
bunch of ribands which had fallen at Nora’s feet, and handing it 
to her, said in a sarcastic tone, “When ladies make presents to 
gentlemen, it is time for other gentlemen to retire.” 


25 


I CHALLENGE MY RIVAL 

“ Good heavens, Quin ! ” cried the girl ; “he is but a boy.” 

“lama man,” roared I, “ and will prove it.” 

“And don’t signify any more than my parrot or lap-dog. 
Mayn’t I give a bit of riband to my own cousin ? ” 

“You are perfectly welcome, miss,” continued the Captain, “as 
many yards as you like.” 

“ Monster ! ” exclaimed the dear girl ; “ your father was a tailor, 
and you are always thinking of the shop. But I’ll have my 
revenge, I will ! Reddy, will you see me insulted ? ” 

“Indeed, Miss Nora,” says I. “I intend to have his blood as 
sure as my name’s Redmond.” 

“ I’ll send for the usher to cane you, little boy,” said the 
Captain, regaining his self-possession ; “ but as for you, miss, I 
have the honour to wish you a good-day.” 

He took off his hat with much ceremony, made a low conge ’ 
and was just walking off, when Mick, my cousin, came up, whose 
ear had likewise been caught by the scream. 

“Hoity — toity ! Jack Quin, what’s the matter herel” says 
Mick; “Nora in tears, Redmond’s ghost here with his sword 
drawn, and you making a bow 1 ” 

“ I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Brady,” said the Englishman : “ I 
have had enough of Miss Nora, here, and your Irish ways. I ain’t 
used to ’em, sir.” 

“Well, well! what is if?” said Mick good-humouredly (for he 
owed Quin a great deal of money as it turned out); “we’ll make 
you used to our ways, or adopt English ones.” 

“ It’s not the English way for ladies to have two lovers ” (the 
“Henglish way,” as the Captain called it), “and so, Mr. Brady, I’ll 
thank you to pay me the sum you owe me, and I resign all claims 
to this young lady. If she has a fancy for schoolboys, let her take 
’em, sir.” 

“ Pooh, pooh ! Quin, you are joking,” said Mick. 

“ I never was more in earnest,” replied the other. 

“ By Heaven, then, look to yourself ! ” shouted Mick. “ Infamous 
seducer ! infernal deceiver ! — you come and wind your toils round 
this suffering angel here — you win her heart and leave her — and 
fancy her brother won’t defend her % Draw this minute, you slave ! 
and let me cut the wdcked heart out of your body ! ” 

“This is regular assassination,” said Quin, starting back; 
“there’s two on ’em on me at once. Fagan, you won’t let ’em 
murder me ? ” 

“ Faith ! ” said Captain Fagan, who seemed mightily amused, 
“you may settle your own quarrel, Captain Quin;” and coming 
over to me, whispered, “ At him again, you little fellow.” 


26 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“As long as Mr. Quin withdraws his claim,” said I, “I, of 
course, do not interfere.” 

“I do, sir — I do,” said Mr. Quin, more and more flustered. 

“ Then defend yourself like a man, curse you ! ” cried Mick 
again. “ Mysie, lead this poor victim away — Redmond and Fagan 
will see fair play between us.” 

“Well now — I don’t — -give me time — I’m puzzled — I — I don’t 
know which way to look.” 

“ Like the donkey betwixt the two bundles of hay,” said Mr. 
Fagan dryly, “ and there’s pretty pickings on either side.” 


f 


CHAPTER II 

IN WHICH I SHOW MYSELF TO BE A MAN OF SPIRIT 
URING this dispute, my cousin Nora did the only thing that 



a lady, under such circumstances, could do, and fainted in 


due form. I was in hot altercation with Mick at the time, 
or I should have, of course, flown to her assistance, but Captain 
Fagan (a dry sort of fellow this Fagan was) prevented me, saying, 
“ I advise you to leave the young lady to herself, Master Redmond, 
and be sure she will come to.” And so indeed, after a while, she 
did, which has shown me since that Fagan knew the world pretty 
well, for many’s the lady I’ve seen in after times recover in a similar 
manner. Quin did not offer to help her, you may be sure, for, in 
the midst of the diversion, caused by her screaming, the faithless 
bully stole away. 

“Which of us is Captain Quin to engage?” said I to Mick ; for 
it was my first affair, and I was as proud of it as of a suit of laced 
velvet. “Is it you or I, Cousin Mick, that is to have the honour 
of chastising this insolent Englishman ? ” And I held out my hand 
as I spoke, for my heart melted towards my cousin under the 
triumph of the moment. 

But he rejected the proffered offer of friendship. “ You — you ! ” 
said he, in a towering passion ; “ hang you for a meddling brat : your 
hand is in everybody’s pie. What business had you to come brawl- 
ing and quarrelling here, with a gentleman who has fifteen hundred 
a year ? ” 

“ Oh,” gasped Nora, from the stone bench, “ I shall die : I know 
I shall. I shall never leave this spot.” 

“ The Captain’s not gone yet,” whispered Fagan ; on which Nora, 
giving him an indignant look, jumped up and walked towards the 
house. 

“ Meanwhile,” Mick continued, “ what business have you, you 
meddling rascal, to interfere with a daughter of this house ? ” 

“Rascal yourself!” roared I: “call me another such name, 
Mick Brady, and I’ll drive my hanger into your weasand. Recollect, 
I stood to you when I was eleven years old. I’m your match now, 
and, by Jove, provoke me, and I’ll beat you like — like your younger 


28 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

brother always did.” That was a home-cut, and I saw Mick turn 
blue with fury. 

“ This is a pretty way to recommend yourself to the family,” 
said Fagan, in a soothing tone. 

“The girl’s old enough to be his mother,” growled Mick. 

“ Old or not,” I replied : “ you listen to this, Mick Brady ” 

I swore a tremendous oath, that need not be put down here) : “ the 
man that marries Nora Brady must first kill me — do you mind that 1 ” 

“ Pooh, sir,” said Mick, turning away, “ kill you — flog you, you 
mean ! I’ll send for Nick the huntsman to do it ; ” and so he 
went off. 

Captain Fagan now came up, and taking me kindly by the hand, 
said I was a gallant lad, and he liked my spirit. “ But what Brady 
says is true,” continued he : “ it’s a hard thing to give a lad counsel 
who is in such a far-gone state as you ; but, believe me, I know the 
world, and if you will but follow my advice, you won’t regret having 
taken it. Nora Brady has not a penny; you are not a whit richer. 
You are but fifteen, and she’s four-and-twenty. In ten years, when 
you’re old enough to marry, she will be an old woman ; and, my poor 
boy, don’t you see — though it’s a hard matter to see — that she’s a 
flirt, and does not care a pin for you or Quin either ? ” 

But who in love (or in any other point, for the matter of that) 
listens to advice ? I never did, and I told Captain Fagan fairly, that 
Nora might love me or not as she liked, but that Quin should fight 
me before he married her — that I swore. 

“ Faith,” says Fagan, “ I think you are a lad that’s likely to 
keep your word ; ” and, looking hard at me for a second or two, he 
walked away likewise, humming a tune : and I saw he looked back 
at me as he went through the old gate out of the garden. When he 
was gone, and I was quite alone, I flung myself down on the bench 
where Nora had made believe to faint, and had left her handker- 
chief; and, taking it up, hid my face in it, and burst into such a 
passion of tears as I would then have had nobody see for the world. 
The crumpled riband which I had flung at Quin lay in the walk, and 
I sat there for hours, as wretched as any man in Ireland, I believe, 
for the time being. But it’s a changeable world ! When we consider 
how great our sorrows seem, and how small they are ; how we think 
we shall die of grief, and how quickly we forget, I think we ought 
to be ashamed of ourselves and our fickle-heartedne'ss. For, after all, 
what business has time to bring us consolation ? I have not, perhaps, 
in the course of my multifarious adventures and experience, hit upon 
the right woman ; and have forgotten, after a little, every single 
creature I adored ; but I think, if I could but have lighted on the 
right one, I would have loved her for ever. 


AT DINNER 


29 

I must have sat for some hours bemoaning myself on the garden- 
bench, for it was morning when I came to Castle Brady, and the 
dinner-bell clanged as usual at three o’clock, which wakened me up 
from my reverie. Presently I gathered up the handkerchief, and 
once more took the riband. As I passed through the offices, I saw 
the Captain’s saddle was still hanging up at the stable-door, and saw 
his odious red-coated brute of a servant swaggering with the scullion- 
girls and kitchen-people. “ The Englishman’s still there, Master 
Redmond,” said one of the maids to me (a sentimental black-eyed 
girl, who waited on the young ladies). “ He’s there in the parlour 
with the sweetest fillet of vale ; go in, and don’t let him browbeat 
you, Master Redmond.” 

And in I went, and took my place at the bottom of the big 
table, as usual, and my friend the butler speedily brought me a cover. 

“ Hallo, Reddy, my boy ! ” said my uncle, “ up and well 1 — that’s 
right.” 

“ He’d better be home with his mother,” growled my aunt. 

“ Don’t mind her,” says Uncle Brady ; “it’s the cold goose she 
ate at breakfast didn’t agree with her. Take a glass of spirits, Mrs. 
Brady, to Redmond’s health.” It was evident he did not know of 
what had happened ; but Mick, who was at dinner too, and Ulick, 
and almost all the girls, looked exceedingly black, and the Captain 
foolish ; and Miss Nora, who was again by his side, ready to cry. 
Captain Fagan sat smiling ; and I looked on as cold as a stone. I 
thought the dinner would choke me : but I was determined to put 
a good face on it, and when the cloth was drawn, filled my glass 
with the rest ; and we drank the King and the Church, as gentlemen 
should. My uncle was in high good-humour, and especially always 
joking with Nora and the Captain. It was, “Nora, divide that 
merry-thought with the Captain ! see who’ll be married first.” “Jack 
Quin, my dear boy, never mind a clean glass for the claret, we’re 
short of crystal at Castle Brady; take Nora’s and the wine will taste 
none the worse ; ” and so on. He was in the highest glee, — I did 
not know why. Had there been a reconciliation between the faith- 
less girl and her lover since they had come into the house 1 

I learned the truth very soon. At the third toast, it was 
always the custom for the ladies to withdraw ; but my uncle 
stopped them this time, in spite of the remonstrances of Nora, 
who said, “ Oh, pa ! do let us go ! ” and said, “ No, Mrs. Brady 
and ladies, if you plaise; this is a sort of toast that is drunk a 
great dale too seldom in my family, and you’ll plaise to receive it 
with all the honours. Here’s Captain and Mrs. John Quin, and 
long life to them. Kiss her, Jack, you rogue : for ’faith you’ve got 
a treasure ! ” 


30 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“ He has already —” I screeched out, springing up. 

“ Hold your tongue, you fool — hold your tongue ! ” said big 
Ulick, who sat by me ; but I wouldn’t hear. 

“ He has already,” I screamed, “ been slapped in the face this 
morning, Captain John Quin; he’s already been called coward, 
Captain John Quin ; and this is the way I’ll drink his health. 
Here’s your health, Captain John Quin ! ” And I flung a glass 
of claret into his face. I don’t know how he looked after it, for 
the next moment I myself was under the table, tripped up by Ulick, 
who hit me a violent cuff on the head as I went down ; and I had 
hardly leisure to hear the general screaming and skurrying that was 
taking place above me, being so fully occupied with kicks, and 
thumps, and curses, with which Ulick was belabouring me. “You 
fool ! ” roared he — “ you great blundering marplot — you silly 
beggarly brat ” (a thump at each), “ hold your tongue ! ” These 
blows from Ulick, of course, I did not care for, for he had always 
been my friend, and had been in the habit of thrashing me all my 
life. 

When I got up from under the table all the ladies were gone ; 
and I had the satisfaction of seeing the Captain’s nose was bleeding, 
as mine was — his was cut across the bridge, and his beauty spoiled 
for ever. Ulick shook himself, sat down quietly, filled a bumper, 
and pushed the bottle to me. “ There, you young donkey,” said he, 
“ sup that ; and let’s hear no more of your braying.” 

“In Heaven’s name, what does all the row mean?” says my uncle. 
“Is the boy in the fever again ? ” 

“It’s all your fault,” said Mick sulkily : “yours and those who 
brought him here.” 

“ Hold your noise, Mick ! ” says Ulick, turning on him ; “ speak 
civil of my father and me, and don’t let me be called upon to teach 
you manners.” 

“It is your fault,” repeated Mick. “What business has the 
vagabond here ? If I had my will, I’d have him flogged and turned 
out.” 

“ And so he should be,” said Captain Quin. 

“ You d best not try it, Quin,” said Ulick, who was always my 
champion ; and, turning to his father, “ The fact is, sir, that the 
young monkey has fallen in love with Nora, and finding her and the 
Captain mighty sweet in the garden to-day, he was for murdering 
Jack Quin.” 

“Gad, he’s beginning young,” said my uncle, quite good- 
humouredly. “’Faith, Fagan, that boy’s a Brady, every inch of 
him.” 

“And I’ll tell you what, Mr. B.,” cried Quin, bristling up: 


I ASSERT MY RIGHTS 


31 


“ I’ve been insulted grossly in this ’ouse. I ain’t at all satisfied 
with these here ways of going on. I’m an Englishman, I am, and 
a man of property ; and I — I ” 

“ If you’re insulted, and not satisfied, remember there’s two of 
us, Quin,” said Ulick gruffly. On which the Captain fell to washing 
his nose in water, and answered never a word. 

“ Mr. Quin,” said I, in the most dignified tone I could assume, 
“may also have satisfaction any time he pleases, by calling on 
Redmond Barry, Esquire, of Barry ville.” At which speech my 
uncle burst out a-laughing (as he did at everything) ; and in this 
laugh, Captain Fagan, much to my mortification, joined. I turned 
rather smartly upon him, however, and bade him to understand that 
as for my cousin Ulick, who had been my best friend through life, 
I could put up with rough treatment from him ; yet, though I was 
a boy, even that sort of treatment I would bear from him no longer ; 
and any other person who ventured on the like would find me a 
man, to their cost. “Mr. Quin,” I added, “knows that fact very 
well ; and if he’s a man, he’ll know where to find me.” 

My uncle now observed that it was getting late, and that my 
mother would be anxious about me. “ One of you had better go 
home with him,” said he, turning to his sons, “ or the lad may be 
playing more pranks.” But Ulick said, with a nod to his brother, 
“ Both of us ride home with Quin here.” 

“ I’m not afraid of Freny’s people,” said the Captain, with a 
faint attempt at a laugh ; “ my man is armed, and so am I.” 

“You know the use of arms very well, Quin,” said Ulick; “and 
no one can doubt your courage ; but Mick and I will see you home 
for all that.” 

“Why, you’ll not be home till morning, boys. Kilwangan’s a 
good ten mile from here.” 

“We’ll sleep at Quin’s quarters,” replied Ulick: “we're going 
to stop a week there.” 

“ Thank you,” says Quin, very faint ; “ it’s very kind of you.” 

“You’ll be lonely, you know, without us.” 

“ Oh yes, very lonely ! ” says Quin. 

“And in another week , my boy,” says Ulick (and here he 
whispered something in the Captain’s ear, in which I thought I 
caught the words “ marriage,” “ parson,” and felt all my fury re- 
turning again). 

“As you please,” whined out the Captain; and the horses were 
quickly brought round, and the three gentlemen rode away. 

Fagan stopped, and, at my uncle’s injunction, walked across the 
old treeless park with me. He said that after the quarrel at dinner, 
he thought I would scarcely want to see the ladies that night, in 


32 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

which opinion I concurred entirely ; and so we went off without an 
aclieu. 

“ A pretty day’s work of it you have made, Master Redmond,” 
said he. “ What ! you a friend to the Bradys, and knowing your 
uncle to be distressed for money, try and break off a match which 
will bring fifteen hundred a year into the family? Quin has pro- 
mised to pay off the four thousand pounds which is bothering your 
uncle so. He takes a girl without a penny — a girl with no more 
beauty than yonder bullock. Well, well, don’t look furious; let’s 
say she is handsome — there’s no accounting for tastes, — a girl that 
has been flinging herself at the head of every man in these parts 
these ten years past, and missing them all. And you, as poor as 
herself, a boy of fifteen — well, sixteen, if you insist — and a boy who 
ought to be attached to your uncle as to your father ” 

“ And so I am,” said I. 

“ And this is the return you make him for his kindness ! 
Didn’t he harbour you in his house when you were an orphan, 
and hasn’t he given you rent-free your fine mansion of Barryville 
yonder ? And now, when his affairs can be put into order, and a 
chance offers for his old age to be made comfortable, who flings 
himself in the way of him and competence 1 — You, of all others ; 
the man in the world most obliged to him. It’s wicked, ungrateful, 
unnatural. From a lad of such spirit as you are, I expect a truer 
courage.” 

“I am not afraid of any man alive,” exclaimed I (for this latter 
part of the Captain’s argument had rather staggered me, and I 
wished, of course, to turn it — as one always should when the 
enemy’s too strong); “and it’s I am the injured man, Captain 
Fagan. No man was ever, since the world began, treated so. Look 
here — look at this riband. I’ve worn it in my heart for six months. 
I’ve had it there all the time of the fever. Didn’t Nora take it out 
of her own bosom and give it me ? Didn’t she kiss me when she 
gave it me, and call me her darling Redmond ? ” 

“She was practising” replied Mr. Fagan, with a sneer. “I 
know women, sir. Give them time, and let nobody else come 
to the house, and they’ll fall in love with a chimney-sweep. There 
was a young lady in Fermoy ” 

“ A young lady in flames,” roared I (but I used a still hotter 
word). “Mark this; come what will of it, I swear I’ll fight the 
man who pretends to the hand of Nora Brady. I’ll follow him, if 
it’s into the church, and meet him there. I’ll have his blood, or he 
shall have mine ; and this riband shall be found dyed in it. Yes, 
and if I kill him, I’ll pin it on his breast, and then she may go and 
take back her token.” This I said because I was very much excited 


I AM SET ON FIGHTING 33 

at the time, and because I had not read novels and romantic plays 
for nothing. 

‘‘Well,” says Fagan after a pause, “if it must be, it must. 
For a young fellow, you are the most bloodthirsty I ever saw. 
Quin’s a determined fellow, too.” 

“ Will you take my message to him ? ” said I, quite eagerly. 

“Hush !” said Fagan: “your mother may be on the look-out. 
Here we are, close to Barryville.” 

“ Mind ! not a word to my mother,” I said ; and went into the 
house swelling with pride and exultation to think that I should have 
a chance against the Englishman I hated so. 

Tim, my servant, had come up from Barryville on my mother’s 
return from church ; for the good lady was rather alarmed at my 
absence, and anxious for my return. But he had seen me go in to 
dinner, at the invitation of the sentimental lady’s-maid ; and when 
he had had his own share of the good things in the kitchen, which 
was always better furnished than ours at home, had walked back 
again to inform his mistress where I was, and, no doubt, to tell her, 
in his own fashion, of all the events that had happened at Castle 
Brady. In spite of my precautions to secrecy, then, I half suspected 
that my mother knew all, from the manner in which she embraced 
me on my arrival, and received our guest, Captain Fagan. The 
poor soul looked a little anxious and flushed, and every now and 
then gazed very hard in the Captain’s face ; but she said not a word 
about the quarrel, for she had a noble spirit, and would as lief have 
seen any one of her kindred hanged as shirking from the field of 
honour. What has become of those gallant feelings nowadays 1 ? 
Sixty years ago a man was a man, in old Ireland, and the sword 
that was worn by his side was at the service of any gentleman’s 
gizzard, upon the slightest difference. But the good old times and 
usages are fast fading away. One scarcely ever hears of a fair 
meeting now, and the use of those cowardly pistols, in place of the 
honourable and manly weapon of gentlemen, has introduced a deal 
of knavery into the practice of duelling, that cannot be sufficiently 
deplored. 

When I arrived at home I felt that I was a man in earnest, 
and welcoming Captain Fagan to Barryville, and introducing him 
to my mother, in a majestic and dignified way, said the Captain 
must be thirsty after his walk, and called upon Tim to bring up 
a bottle of the yellow-sealed Bordeaux, and cakes and glasses, 
immediately. 

Tim looked at the mistress in great wonderment : and the fact 
is, that six hours previous I would as soon have thought of burning 
the house down as calling for a bottle of claret on my own account ; 

4 c 


34 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

but I felt I was a man now, and had a right to command ; and my 
mother felt this too, for she turned to the fellow and said sharply, 
“ Don’t you hear, you rascal, what your master says ! Go, get the 
wine, and the cakes and glasses, directly.” Then (for you may be 
sure she did not give Tim the keys of our little cellar) she went and 
got the liquor herself ; and Tim brought it in, on the silver tray, 
in due form. My dear mother poured out the wine, and drank the 
Captain welcome ; but I observed her hand shook very much as she 
performed this courteous duty, and the bottle went clink, clink, 
against the glass. When she had tasted her glass, she said she had 
a headache, and would go to bed ; and so I asked her blessing, as 
becomes a dutiful son — (the modern bloods have given up the 
respectful ceremonies which distinguished a gentleman in my time) 
— and she left me and Captain Fagan to talk over our important 
business. 

“ Indeed,” said the Captain, “ I see now no other way out of 
the scrape than a meeting. The fact is, there was a talk of it at 
Castle Brady, after your attack upon Quin this afternoon, and he 
vowed that he would cut you in pieces ; but the tears and supplica- 
tions of Miss Honoria induced liim, though very unwillingly, to 
relent. Now, however, matters have gone too far. No officer, 
bearing His Majesty’s commission, can receive a glass of wine on his 
nose — this claret of yours is very good, by the way, and by your 
leave we’ll ring for another bottle — without resenting the affront. 
Fight you must ; and Quin is a huge strong fellow.” 

“He’ll give the better mark,” said I. “I am not afraid of 
him.” 

“In faith,” said the Captain, “I believe you are not; for a 
lad, I never saw more game in my life.” 

“ Look at that sword, sir,” says I, pointing to an elegant silver- 
mounted one, in a white shagreen case, that hung on the mantelpiece, 
under the picture of my father, Harry Barry. “It was with that sword, 
sir, that my father pinked Mohawk O’Driscol, in Dublin, in the year 
1740 ; with that sword, sir, he met Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone, 
the Hampshire baronet, and ran him through the neck. They met 
on horseback, with sword and pistol, on Hounslow Heath, as I dare 
say you have heard tell of, and those are the pistols ” (they hung 
on each side of the picture) “ which the gallant Barry used. He 
was quite in the wrong, having insulted Lady Fuddlestone, when in 
liquor, at the Brentford assembly. But like a gentleman, he 
scorned to apologise, and Sir Huddlestone received a ball through 
his hat, before they engaged with the sword. I am Harry Barry’s 
son, sir, and will act as becomes my name and my quality.” 

“Give me a kiss, my dear boy,” said Fagan, with tears in his 


LETTERS TO MY MOTHER AND NORA 35 


eyes. “ You’re after my own soul. As long as Jack Fagan lives 
you shall never want a friend or a second.” 

Poor fellow ! he was shot six months afterwards, carrying orders 
to my Lord George Sackville, at Minden, and I lost thereby a kind 
friend. But we don’t know what is in store for us, and that night 
was a merry one at least. We had a second bottle, and a third too 
(I could hear the poor mother going downstairs for each, but she 
never came into the parlour with them, and sent them in by the 
butler, Mr. Tim) ; and we parted at length, he engaging to arrange 
matters with Mr. Quin’s second that night, and to bring me news in 
the morning as to the place where the meeting should take place. 
I have often thought since, how different my fate might have been, 
had I not fallen in love with Nora at that early age ; and had I not 
flung the wine in Quin’s face, and so brought on the duel. I might 
have settled down in Ireland but for that (for Miss Quinlan was an 
heiress, within twenty miles of us, and Peter Burke, of Kilwangan, 
left his daughter Judy £ 700 a year, and I might have had either of 
them, had I waited a few years). But it was in my fate to be a 
wanderer, and that battle with Quin sent me on my travels at a 
very early age : as you shall hear anon. 

I never slept sounder in my life, though I woke a little earlier 
than usual ; and you may be sure my first thought was of the event 
of the day, for which I was fully prepared. I had ink and pen in 
my room — had I not been writing those verses to Nora but the day 
previous, like a poor fond fool as I was ? And now I sat down and 
wrote a couple of letters more : they might be the last, thought 
I, that I ever should write in my life. The first was to my 
mother : — 

“ Honoured Madam ” — I wrote — “ This will not be given you 
unless I fall by the hand of Captain Quin, whom I meet this day in 
the field of honour, with sword and pistol. If I die, it is as a good 
Christian and a gentleman, — how should I be otherwise when 
educated by such a mother as you 1 I forgive all my enemies — I 
beg your blessing as a dutiful son. I desire that my mare Nora, 
which my uncle gave me, and which I called after the most faithless 
of her sex, may be returned to Castle Brady, and beg you will give 
my silver-liilted hanger to Phil Purcell, the gamekeeper. Present 
my duty to my uncle and Ulick, and all the girls of my party 
there. And I remain your dutiful son, Redmond Barry.” 

To Nora I wrote : — 

“ This letter will be found in my bosom along with the token 
you gave me. It will be dyed in my blood (unless I have Captain 


36 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Quin’s, whom I hate, but forgive), and will be a pretty ornament 
for you on your marriage-day. Wear it, and think of the poor boy 
to whom you gave it, and who died (as he was always ready to do) 
for your sake. Redmond.” 

These letters being written, and sealed with my father’s great 
silver seal of the Barry arms, I went down to breakfast ; where my 
mother was waiting for me, you may be sure. We did not say a 
single word about what was taking place : on the contrary, we 
talked of anything but that; about who was at church the day 
before, and about my wanting new clothes now I was grown so tall. 

She said I must have a suit against winter, if — if — she could afford 
it. She winced rather at the “if,” Heaven bless her! I knew 
what was in her mind. And then she fell to telling me about the 
black pig that must be killed, and that she had found the speckled 
hen’s nest that morning, whose eggs I liked so, and other such 
trifling talk. Some of these eggs were for breakfast, and I ate 
them with a good appetite ; but in helping myself to salt I spilled 
it, on which she started up with a scream. “ Thank God” said 
she, “ it’s fallen towards me.” And then, her heart being too full, 
she left the room. Ah ! they have their faults, those mothers ; but 
are there any other women like them % 

When she was gone I went to take down the sword with which 
my father had vanquished the Hampshire baronet, and would you 
believe it % — the brave woman had tied a new riband to the hilt : 
for indeed she had the courage of a lioness and a Brady united. 
And then I took down the pistols, which were always kept bright 
and well oiled, and put some fresh flints I had into the locks, and 
got balls and powder ready against the Captain should come. There 
was claret and a cold fowl put ready for him on the sideboard, and 
a case-bottle of old brandy too, with a couple of little glasses on 
the silver tray with the Barry arms emblazoned. In after life, and 
in the midst of my fortune and splendour, I paid thirty-five guineas, 
and almost as much more interest, to the London goldsmith who 
supplied my father with that very tray. A scoundrel pawnbroker 
would only give me sixteen for it afterwards ; so little can we trust 
the honour of rascally tradesmen ! 

At eleven o’clock Captain Fagan arrived, on horseback, with 
a mounted dragoon after him. He paid his compliments to the 
collation which my mother’s care had provided for him, and then 
said, “ Look ye, Redmond my boy ; this is a silly business. The 
girl will marry Quin, mark my words; and as sure as she does 
you’ll forget her. You are but a boy. Quin is willing to consider 
you as such. Dublin’s a fine place, and if you have a mind to take i 


MY FIRST DUEL 37 

a ride thither and see the town for a month, here are twenty guineas 
at your service. Make Quin an apology, and be off.” 

“A man of honour, Mr. Fagan,” says I, “dies, but never 
apologises. I’ll see the Captain hanged before I apologise.” 

“Then there’s nothing for it but a meeting.” 

“ My mare is saddled and ready,” says I ; “ where’s the meeting, 
and who’s the Captain’s second ? ” 

“Your cousins go out with him,” answered Mr. Fagan. 

“I’ll ring for my groom to bring my mare round,” I said, “as 
soon as you have rested yourself.” Tim was accordingly despatched 
for Nora, and I rode away, but I didn’t take leave of Mrs. Barry. 
The curtains of her bedroom windows were down, and they didn’t 
move as we mounted and trotted off. . . . But two hours after- 
wards, you should have seen her as she came tottering downstairs, 
and heard the scream which she gave as she hugged her boy to her 
heart, quite unharmed, and without a wound in his body. 

What had taken place I may as well- tell here. When we got 
to the ground, Ulick, Mick, and the Captain were already there : 
Quin, flaming in red regimentals, as big a monster as ever led a 
grenadier company. The party were laughing together at some 
joke of one or the other : and I must say I thought this laughter 
very unbecoming in my cousins, who were met, perhaps, to see the 
death of one of their kindred. 

“I hope to spoil this sport,” says I to Captain Fagan, in a 
great rage, “and trust to see this sword of mine in yonder big 
bully’s body.” 

“Oh! it’s with pistols we fight,” replied Mr. Fagan. “You 
are no match for Quin with the sword.” 

“ I’ll match any man with the sword,” said I. 

“ But swords are to-day impossible ; Captain Quin is — is lame. 
He knocked his knee against the swinging park-gate last night, as 
he was riding home, and can scarce move it now.” 

“ Not against Castle Brady gate,” says I : “ that has been off 
the hinges these ten years.” On which Fagan said it must have 
been some other gate, and repeated what he had said to Mr. Quin 
and my cousins, when, on alighting from our horses, we joined and 
saluted those gentlemen. 

“ Oh yes ! dead lame,” said Ulick, coming to shake me by the 
-hand, while Captain Quin took off his hat and turned extremely 
red. “And very lucky for you, Redmond my boy,” continued 
Ulick ; “ you were a dead man else ; for he is a devil of a fellow 
— isn’t he, Fagan ? ” 

“ A regular Turk,” answered Fagan ; adding, “ I never yet knew 
the man who stood to Captain Quin.” 


38 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“ Hang the business ! ” said Ulick ; “ I hate it. I’m ashamed 
of it. Say you’re sorry, Redmond : you can easily say that.” 

“ If the young feller will go to Dubling, as proposed ” 

here interposed Mr. Quin. 

“I am not sorry — I’ll not apologise — and I’ll as soon go to 
Dubling as to ! ” said I, with a stamp of my foot. 

“ There’s nothing else for it,” said Ulick, with a laugh, to Fagan. 
“ Take your ground, Fagan, — twelve paces, I suppose ? ” 

“ Ten, sir,” said Mr. Quin, in a big voice ; “ and make them 
short ones, do you hear, Captain Fagan ? ” 

“Don’t bully, Mr. Quin,” said Ulick surlily; “here are the 
pistols.” And he added, with some emotion, to me, “ God bless 
you, my boy ; and when I count three, fire.” 

Mr. Fagan put my pistol into my hand, — that is, not one of 
mine (which were to serve, if need were, for the next round), but 
one of Ulick’s. “ They are all right,” said he. “ Never fear : and, 
Redmond, fire at his neck — hit him there under the gorget. See 
how the fool shows himself open.” 

Mick, who had never spoken a word, Ulick, and the Captain 
retired to one side, and Ulick gave the signal. It was slowly 
given, and I had leisure to cover my man well. I saw him 
changing colour and trembling as the numbers were given. At 
“ three,” both our pistols went off. I heard something whizz by 
me, and my antagonist, giving a most horrible groan, staggered back- 
wards and fell. 

“ He’s down — he’s down ! ” cried the seconds, running towards 
him. Ulick lifted him up — Mick took his head. 

“He’s hit here, in the neck,” said Mick; and laying open his 
coat, blood was seen gurgling from under his gorget, at the very 
spot at which I aimed. 

“How is it with you?” said Ulick. “Is he really hit?” said 
he, looking hard at him. The unfortunate man did not answer, but 
when the support of Ulick’s arm was withdrawn from his back, 
groaned once more, and fell backwards. 

“ The young fellow has begun well,” said Mick, with a scowl. 
“ You had better ride off, young sir, before the police are up. They 
had wind of the business before we left Kilwangan.” 

“Is he quite dead ? ” said I. 

“ Quite dead,” answered Mick. 

“ Then the world’s rid of a coward ,” said Captain Fagan, giving 
the huge prostrate body a scornful kick with his foot. “ It’s all 
over with him, Reddy, — he doesn’t stir.” 

“ We are not cowards, Fagan,” said Ulick roughly, “whatever 
he was ! Let’s get the boy off as quick as we may. Your man 


I LEAVE HOME 


39 

shall go for a cart, and take away the body of this unhappy gentle- 
man. This has been a sad day’s work for our family, Redmond 
Barry : you have robbed us of £1500 a year.” 

“ It was Nora did it,” said I ; “ not I.” And I took the riband 
she gave me out of my waistcoat, and the letter, and flung them 
down on the body of Captain Quin. “ There ! ” says I — “ take her 
those ribands. She’ll know what they mean : and that’s all that’s 
left to her of two lovers she had and ruined.” 

I did not feel any horror or fear, young as I was, in seeing 
my enemy prostrate before me; for I knew that I had met and 
conquered him honourably in the field, as became a man of my 
name and blood. 

“And now, in Heaven’s name, get the youngster out of the 
way,” said Mick. 

Ulick said he would ride with me, and off accordingly we 
galloped, never drawing bridle till we came to my mother’s door. 
When there, Ulick told Tim to feed my mare, as I would have far 
to ride that day ; and I was in the poor mother’s arms in a minute. 

I need not tell how great were her pride and exultation when 
she heard from Ulick’s lips the account of my behaviour at the duel. 
He urged, however, that I should go into hiding for a short time ; 
and it was agreed between them that I should drop my name of 
Barry, and, taking that of Redmond, go to Dublin, and there wait 
until matters were blown over. This arrangement was not come to 
■without some discussion ; for why should I not be as safe at Barry- 
ville, she said, as my cousin and Ulick at Castle Brady? — bailiffs 
and duns never got near them ; why should constables be enabled 
to come upon me? But Ulick persisted in the necessity of my 
instant departure ; in which argument, as I was anxious to see tho 
world, I must confess, I sided with him; and my mother was 
brought to see that in our small house at Barryville, in the midst of 
the village, and with the guard but of a couple of servants, escape 
would be impossible. So the kind soul was forced to yield to my 
cousin’s entreaties, who promised her, however, that the affair would 
soon be arranged, and that I should be restored to her. Ah ! how 
little did he know wliat fortune was in store for me ! 

My dear mother had some forebodings, I think, that our separa- 
tion was to be a long one ; for she told me that all night long she 
had been consulting the cards regarding my fate in the duel ; and 
that all the signs betokened a separation ; then, taking out a stocking 
from her escritoire, the kind soul put twenty guineas in a purse for 
me (she had herself but twenty-five), and made up a little valise, to 
be placed at the back of my mare, in which were my clothes, linen, 
and a silver dressing-case of my father’s. She bade me, too, to 


40 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

keep the sword and the pistols I had known to use so like a man. 
She hurried my departure now (though her heart, I know, was full), 
and almost in half-an-hour after my arrival at home I was once 
more on the road again, with the wide world as it were before me. 
I need not tell how Tim and the cook cried at my departure : and, 
mayhap, I had a tear or two myself in my eyes; but no lad of 
sixteen is very sad who has liberty for the first time, and twenty 
guineas in his pocket : and I rode away, thinking, I confess, not so 
much of the kind mother left alone, and of the home behind me, as 
of to-morrow, and all the wonders it would bring. 


CHAPTER III 

I MAKE A FALSE START IN THE GENTEEL WORLD 

I RODE that night as far as Carlow, where I lay at the best 

inn; and being asked what was my name by the landlord of 

the house, gave it as Mr. Redmond, according to my cousin’s 

instructions, and said I was of the Redmonds of Waterford county, 
and was on my road to Trinity College, Dublin, to be educated 
there. Seeing my handsome appearance, silver-hilted sword, and 
well-filled valise, my landlord made free to send up a jug of claret 
without my asking; and charged, you may be sure, pretty hand- 
somely for it in the bill. No gentleman in those good old days 
went to bed without a good share of liquor to set him sleeping, and 
on this my first day’s entrance into the world, I made a point to 
act the fine gentleman completely ; and, I assure you, succeeded in 
my part to admiration. The excitement of the events of the day, 
the quitting my home, the meeting with Captain Quin, were enough 
to set my brains in a whirl, without the claret ; which served to 
finish me completely. I did not dream of the death of Quin, as some 
milksops, perhaps, would have done ; indeed, I have never had any 
of that foolish remorse consequent upon any of my affairs of honour : 
always considering, from the first, that where a gentleman risks his 
own life in manly combat, he is a fool to be ashamed because he 
wins. I slept at Carlow as sound as man could sleep; drank a 
tankard of small beer and a toast to my breakfast ; and exchanged 
the first of my gold pieces to settle the bill, not forgetting to pay 
all the servants liberally, and as a gentleman should. I began so 
the first day of my life, and so have continued. No man has been 
at greater straits than I, and has borne more pinching poverty and 
hardship ; but nobody can say of me that, if I had a guinea, I was 
not free-handed with it, and did not spend it as well as a lord 
could do. 

I had no doubts of the future : thinking that a man of my 
person, parts, and courage, could make his way anywhere. Besides, 
I had twenty gold guineas in my pocket ; a sum which (although I 
was mistaken) I calculated would last me for four months at least, 
during which time something would be done towards the making of 


42 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

ray fortune. So I rode on, singing to myself, or chatting with the 
passers-by ; and all the girls along the road said God save me for a 
clever gentleman ! As for Nora and Castle Brady, between to-day 
and yesterday there seemed to be a gap as of half-a-score of years. 
I vowed I would never re-enter the place but as a great man ; and 
I kept my vow too, as you shall hear in due time. 

There was much more liveliness and bustle on the king’s high- 
road in those times, than in these days of stage-coaches, which carry 
you from one end of the kingdom to another in a few score hours. 
The gentry rode their own horses or drove in their own coaches, 
and spent three days on a journey which now occupies ten hours ; 
so that there was no lack of company for a person travelling towards 
Dublin. I made part of the journey from Carlow towards Naas 
with a well-armed gentleman from Kilkenny, dressed in green and a 
gold cord, with a patch on his eye, and riding a powerful mare. 
He asked me the question of the day, and whither I was bound, 
and whether my mother was not afraid on account of the highway- 
men to let one so young as myself to travel 1 ? But I said, pulling 
out one of them from a holster, that I had a pair of good pistols 
that had already done execution, and were ready to do it again; 
and here, a pock-marked man coming up, he put spurs into his bay 
mare and left me. She was a much more powerful animal than 
mine ; and, besides, I did not wish to fatigue my horse, wishing to 
enter Dublin that night, and in reputable condition. 

As I rode towards Kilcullen, I saw a crowd of the peasant- 
people assembled round a one-horse chair, and my friend in green, 
as I thought, making off half a mile up the hill. A footman was 
howling “Stop thief!” at the top of his voice; but the country 
fellows were only laughing at his distress, and making all sorts 
of jokes at the adventure which had just befallen. 

“ Sure you might have kept him off with your blunderiwsA I ” 
says one fellow. 

“Oh, the coward! to let the Captain bate you; and he only 
one eye ! ” cries another. 

“The next time my Lady travels, she’d better lave you at 
home ! ” said a third. 

“What is this noise, fellows'?” said I, riding up amongst them, 
and, seeing a lady in the carriage very pale and frightened, gave 
a slash of my whip, and bade the red-shanked ruffians keep off. 
“What has happened, madam, to annoy your Ladyship?” I said, 
pulling off my hat, and bringing my mare up in a prance to the 
chair-window. 

The lady explained. She was the wife of Captain Fitzsimons, 
and was hastening to join the Captain at Dublin. Her chair had 


43 


A LADY IN DISTRESS 

been stopped by a highwayman : the great oaf of a servant-man 
had fallen down on his knees armed as he was ; and though there 
were thirty people in the next field working when the ruffian 
attacked her, not one of them would help her ; but, on the contrary, 
wished the Captain, as they called the highwayman, good luck. 

“ Sure lie’s the friend of the poor,” said one fellow, “ and good 
luck to him ! ” 

“ Was it any business of ours % ” asked another. And another 
told, grinning, that it was the famous Captain Freny, who, having 
bribed the jury to acquit him two days back at Kilkenny assizes, 
had mounted his horse at the gaol door, and the very next day had 
robbed two barristers who were going the circuit. 

I told this pack of rascals to be off to their work, or they should 
taste of my thong, and proceeded, as well as I could, to comfort 
Mrs. Fitzsimons under her misfortunes. “ Had she lost much ? ” 
“ Everything : her purse, containing upwards of a hundred guineas ; 
her jewels, snuff-boxes, watches, and a pair of diamond shoe- 
buckles of the Captain’s.” These mishaps I sincerely com- 
miserated ; and knowing her by her accent to be an Englishwoman, 
deplored the difference that existed between the two countries, and 
said that in our country (meaning England) such atrocities were 
unknown. 

“ You, too, are an Englishman % ” said she, with rather a tone 
of surprise. On which I said I was proud to be such : as, in fact, I 
was ; and I never knew a true Tory gentleman of Ireland who did 
not wish he could say as much. 

I rode by Mrs. Fitzsimons’s chair all the way to Naas ; and, as 
she had been robbed of her purse, asked permission to lend her 
a couple of pieces to pay her expenses at the inn : which sum she 
was graciously pleased to accept, and was, at the same time, kind 
enough to invite me to share her dinner. To the lady’s questions 
regarding my birth and parentage, I replied that I was a young 
gentleman of large fortune (this was not true ; but what is the use 
of crying bad fish 1 ? My dear mother instructed me early in this 
sort of prudence) and good family in the county of Waterford ; that 
I was going to Dublin for my studies, and that my mother allowed 
me five hundred per annum. Mrs. Fitzsimons was equally com- 
municative. She was the daughter of General Granby Somerset, 
of Worcestershire, of whom, of course, I had heard (and though 
I had not, of course I was too well bred to say so) ; and had made, 
as she must confess, a runaway match with Ensign Fitzgerald Fitz- 
simons. Had I been in Donegal ? — No ! That was a pity. The 
Captain’s father possesses a hundred thousand acres there, and 
Fitzsimonsburgh Castle’s the finest mansion in Ireland. Captain 


44 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Fitzsimons is the eldest son ; and* though he has quarrelled with 
his father, must inherit the vast property. She went on to tell 
me about the balls at Dublin, the banquets at the Castle, the 
horse-races at the Phoenix, the ridottos and routs, until I became 
quite eager to join in those pleasures ; and I only felt grieved to 
think that my position would render secrecy necessary, and prevent 
me from being presented at the Court, of which the Fitzsimonses 
were the most elegant ornaments. How different was her lively 
rattle to that of the vulgar wenches at the Kilwangan assemblies ! 
In every sentence she mentioned a lord or a person of quality. She 
evidently spoke French and Italian, of the former of which languages 
I have said I knew a few words ; and, as for her English accent, 
why, perhaps I was no judge of that, for, to say the truth, she was 
the first real English person I had ever met. She recommended me, 
further, to be very cautious with regard to the company I should 
meet at Dublin, where rogues and adventurers of all countries 
abounded ; and my delight and gratitude to her may be imagined, 
when, as our conversation grew more intimate (as we sat over our 
dessert), she kindly offered to accommodate me with lodgings in her 
own house, where her Fitzsimons, she said, would welcome with 
delight her gallant young preserver. 

“ Indeed, madam,” said I, “ I have preserved nothing for you.” 
Which was perfectly true ; for had I not come up too late after the 
robbery to prevent the highwayman from carrying off her money 
and pearls ? 

“And sure, ma’am, them wasn’t much,” said Sullivan, the 
blundering servant, who had been so frightened at Freny’s approach, 
and was waiting on us at dinner. “Didn’t he return you the 
thirteenpence in copper, and the watch, saving it was only pinch- 
beck?” 

But his lady rebuked him for a saucy varlet, and turned him 
out of the room at once, saying to me when he had gone, “that the 
fool didn’t know what was the meaning of a hundred-pound bill, 
which was in the pocket-book that Freny took from her.” 

Perhaps had I been a little older in the world’s experience, I 
should have begun to see that Madam Fitzsimons was not the 
person of fashion she pretended to be ; but, as it was, I took all 
her stories for truth, and, when the landlord brought the bill for 
dinner, paid it with the air of a lord. Indeed, she made no motion 
to produce the two pieces I had lent to her ; and so we rode on slowly 
towards Dublin, into which city we made our entrance at nightfall. 
The rattle and splendour of the coaches, the flare of the linkboys, 
the number and magnificence of the houses, struck me with the 
greatest wonder ; though I was careful to disguise this feeling, ac- 


CAPTAIN FITZSIMONS 45 

cording to my dear mother’s directions, who told me that it was the 
mark of a man of fashion never to wonder at anything, and never 
to admit that any house, equipage, or company he saw, was more 
splendid or genteel than what he had been accustomed to at 
home. 

We stopped, at length, at a house of rather mean appearance, 
and were let into a passage by no means so clean as that at Barry- 
ville, where there was a great smell of supper and punch. A stout 
red-faced man, without a periwig, and in rather a tattered night- 
gown and cap, made his appearance from the parlour, and embraced 
his lady (for it was Captain Fitzsimons) with a great deal of 
cordiality. Indeed, when he saw that a stranger accompanied her, 
he embraced her more rapturously than ever. In introducing me, 
she persisted in saying that I was her preserver, and complimented 
my gallantry as much as if I had killed Freny, instead of coming up 
when the robbery was over. The Captain said he knew the Red- 
monds of Waterford intimately well ; which assertion alarmed me, 
as I knew nothing of the family to which I was stated to belong. 
But I posed him by asking which of the Redmonds he knew, for I 
had never heard his name in our family. He said he knew the Red- 
monds of Redmondstown. “ Oh,” says I, “ mine are the Redmonds 
of Castle Redmond ; ” and so I put him off the scent. I went to see 
my nag put up at a livery-stable hard by, with the Captain’s horse 
and chair, and returned to my entertainer. 

Although there were the relics of some mutton-chops and onions 
on a cracked dish before him, the Captain said, “ My love, I wish 
I had known of your coming, for Bob Moriarty and I just finished 
the most delicious venison pasty, which his Grace the Lord Lieu- 
tenant sent us, with a flask of sillery from his own cellar. You 
know the wine, my dear 1 But as bygones are bygones, and no Help 
for them, what say ye to a fine lobster and a bottle of as good claret 
as any in Ireland? Betty, clear these things from the table, and 
make the mistress and our young friend welcome to our home.” 

Not having small change, Mr. Fitzsimons asked me to lend 
him a tenpenny-piece to purchase the dish of lobsters ; but his 
lady, handing out one of the guineas I had given her, bade the girl 
get the change for that, and procure the supper; which she did 
presently, bringing back only a very few shillings out of the guinea 
to her mistress, saying that the fishmonger had kept the remainder 
for an old account. “ And the more great big blundering fool you, 
for giving the gold piece to him,” roared Mr. Fitzsimons. I forget 
how many hundred guineas he said he had paid the fellow during 
the year. 

Our supper was seasoned, if not by any great elegance, at least 


46 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

by a plentiful store of anecdotes, concerning the highest personages 
of the city ; with whom, according to himself, the Captain lived on 
terms of the utmost intimacy. Not to be behindhand with him, I 
spoke of my own estates and property as if I was as rich as a duke. 
I told all the stories of the nobility I had ever heard from my 
mother, and some that, perhaps, I had invented ; and ought to have 
been aware that my host was an impostor himself, as he did not 
find out my own blunders and misstatements. But youth is ever 
too confident. It was some time before I knew that I had made no 
very desirable acquaintance in Captain Fitzsimons and his lady ; 
and, indeed, went to bed congratulating myself upon my wonderful 
good luck in having, at the outset of my adventures, fallen in with 
so distinguished a couple. 

The appearance of the chamber I occupied might, indeed, have 
led me to imagine that the heir of Fitzsimonsburgh Castle, county 
Donegal, was not as yet reconciled with his wealthy parents ; and, 
had I been an English lad, probably my suspicion and distrust 
would have been aroused instantly. But perhaps, as the reader 
knows, we are not so particular in Ireland on the score of neatness 
as people are in this precise country; hence the disorder of my 
bedchamber did not strike me so much. For were not all the 
windows broken and stuffed with rags even at Castle Brady, my 
uncle’s superb mansion? Was there ever a lock to the doors there, 
or if a lock, a handle to the lock, or a hasp to fasten it to ? So, 
though my bedroom boasted of these inconveniences, and a few 
more; though my counterpane was evidently a greased brocade 
dress of Mrs. Fitzsimons’s, and my cracked toilet-glass not much 
bigger than a half-crown, yet I was used to this sort of ways in 
Irish houses, and still thought myself in that of a man of fashion. 
There was no lock to the drawers, which, when they did open, were 
full of my hostess’s rouge-pots, shoes, stays, and rags ; so I allowed 
my wardrobe to remain in my valise, but set out my silver dressing- 
apparatus upon the ragged cloth on the drawers, where it shone to 
great advantage. 

When Sullivan appeared in the morning, I asked him about my 
mare, which he informed me was doing well. I then bade him 
bring me hot shaving-water in a loud dignified tone. 

“Hot shaving-water!” says he, bursting out laughing (and I 
confess not without reason). “Is it yourself you’re going to shave?” 
said he. “ And maybe when I bring you up the water I’ll bring 
you up the cat too, and you can shave her.” I flung a boot at the 
scoundrel’s head in reply to this impertinence, and was soon with 
my friends in the parlour for breakfast. There was a hearty 
welcome, and the same cloth that had been used the night before : 


INTRODUCED TO DUBLIN SOCIETY 47 

as I recognised by the black mark of the Irish-stew dish and the 
stain left by a pot of porter at supper. 

My host greeted me with great cordiality ; Mrs. Fitzsimons said 
I was an elegant figure for the Phoenix ; and indeed, without vanity, 
I may say of myself that there were worse-looking fellows in Dublin 
than I. I had not the powerful chest and muscular proportion 
which I have since attained (to be exchanged, alas ! for gouty legs 
and chalk-stones in my fingers ; but ’tis the way of mortality), but 
I had arrived at near my present growth of six feet, and with my 
hair in buckle, a handsome lace jabot and wristbands to my shirt, 
and a red plush waistcoat, barred with gold, looked the gentleman 
I was born. I wore my drab coat with plate buttons, that was 
grown too small for me, and quite agreed with Captain Fitzsimons 
that I must pay a visit to his tailor, in order to procure myself a 
coat more fitting my size. 

“ I needn’t ask whether you had a comfortable bed,” said he. 
“Young Fred Pimpleton (Lord Pimpleton’s second son) slept in it 
for seven months, during which he did me the honour to stay with 
me, and if he was satisfied, I don’t know who else wouldn’t be.” 

After breakfast we walked out to see the town, and Mr. Fitz- 
simons introduced me to several of his acquaintances whom we 
met, as his particular young friend Mr. Redmond, of Waterford 
county; he also presented me at his hatter’s and tailor’s as a 
gentleman of great expectations and large property; and although 
I told the latter that I should not pay him ready casli for more 
than one coat, which fitted me to a nicety, yet he insisted upon 
making me several, which I did not care to refuse. The Captain, 
also, who certainly wanted such a renewal of raiment, told the 
tailor to send him home a handsome military frock, which he 
selected. 

Then we went home to Mrs. Fitzsimons, who drove out in her 
chair to the Phoenix Park, where a review was, and where numbers 
of the young gentry were round about her ; to all of whom she pre- 
sented me as her preserver of the day before. Indeed, such was 
her complimentary account of me, that before half-an-hour I had 
got to be considered as a young gentleman of the highest family in 
the land, related to all the principal nobility, a cousin of Captain 
Fitzsimons, and heir to ,£10,000 a year. Fitzsimons said he had 
ridden over every inch of my estate ; and ’faith, as he chose to tell 
these stories for me, I let him have his way — indeed was not a 
little pleased (as youth is) to be made much of, and to pass for a 
great personage. I had little notion then that I had got among a 
set of impostors — that Captain Fitzsimons was only an adventurer, 
and his lady a person of no credit; but such are the dangers to 


48 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

which youth is perpetually subject, and hence let young men take 
warning by me. 

I purposely hurry over the description of my life in which the 
incidents were painful, of no great interest except to my unlucky 
self, and of which my companions were certainly not of a kind 
befitting my quality. The fact was, a young man could hardly 
have fallen into worse hands than those in which I now found 
myself. I have been to Donegal since, and have never seen the 
famous Castle of Fitzsimonsburgh, which is, likewise, unknown to 
the oldest inhabitants of Ihat county ; nor are the Granby Somersets 
much better known in Hampshire. The couple into whose hands 
I had fallen were of a sort much more common then than at present, 
for the vast wars of later days have rendered it very difficult for 
noblemen’s footmen or hangers-on to procure commission ; and such, 
in fact, had been the original station of Captain Fitzsimons. Had 
I known his origin, of course I would have died rather than have 
associated with him ; but in those simple days of youth I took his 
tales for truth, and fancied myself in high luck at being, at my 
outset into life, introduced into such a family. Alas ! we are the 
sport of destiny. When I consider upon what small circumstances 
all the great events of my life have turned, I can hardly believe 
myself to have been anything but a puppet in the hands of Fate ; 
which has played its most fantastic tricks upon me. 

The Captain had been a gentleman’s gentleman, and his lady 
of no higher rank. The society which this worthy pair kept was 
at a sort of ordinary which they held, and at which their friends 
were always welcome on payment of a certain moderate sum for 
their dinner. After dinner, you may be sure that cards were not 
wanting, and that the company who played did not play for love 
merely. To these parties persons of all sorts would come : young 
bloods from the regiments garrisoned in Dublin ; young clerks from 
the Castle; horse-riding, wine-tippling, watchman-beating men of 
fashion about town, such as existed in Dublin in that day more 
than in any other city with which I am acquainted in Europe. I 
never knew young fellows make such a show, and upon such small 
means. I never knew young gentlemen with what I may call such 
a genius for idleness : and whereas an Englishman with fifty guineas 
a year is not able to do much more than starve, and toil like a slave 
in a profession, a young Irish buck with the same sum will keep 
his horses, and drink his bottle, and live as lazy as a lord. Here 
was a doctor who never had a patient, cheek by jowl with an 
attorney who never had a client : neither had a guinea— each had 
a good horse to ride in the Park, and the best of clothes to his 
back. A sporting clergyman without a living ; several young wine- 


MY LIFE IN DUBLIN 49 

merchants, who consumed much more liquor than they had or sold ; 
and men of similar character, formed the society at the house into 
which, by ill luck, I was thrown. What could happen to a man 
but misfortune from associating with such company 1 — (I have not 
mentioned the ladies of the society, who were, perhaps, no better 
than the males) — and in a very very short time I became their 
prey. 

As for my poor twenty guineas, in three days I saw, with terror, 
that they had dwindled down to eight : theatres and taverns having 
already made such cruel inroads in my purse. At play I had lost, 
it is true, a couple of pieces ; but seeing that every one round about 
me played upon honour and gave their bills, I, of course, preferred 
that medium to the payment of ready money, and when I lost paid 
on account. 

With the tailors, saddlers, and others, I employed similar means ; 
and in so far Mr. Fitzsimons’s representation did me good, for the 
tradesmen took him at his word regarding my fortune (I have since 
learned that the rascal pigeoned several other young men of property), 
and for a little time supplied me with any goods I might be pleased 
to order. At length, my cash running low, I was compelled to 
pawn some of the suits with which the tailor had provided me ; for 
I did not like to part with my mare, on which I daily rode in the 
Park, and which I loved as the gift of my respected uncle. I raised 
some little money, too, on a few trinkets which I had purchased of 
a jeweller who pressed his credit upon me ; and thus was enabled 
to keep up appearances for yet a little time. 

I asked at the post-office repeatedly for letters for Mr. Redmond, 
but none such had arrived ; and, indeed, I always felt rather relieved 
when the answer of “No” was given to me; for I was not very 
anxious that my mother should know my proceedings in the extrava- 
gant life which I was leading at Dublin. It could not last very 
long, however ; for when my cash was quite exhausted, and I paid 
a second visit to the tailor, requesting him to make me more clothes, 
the fellow hummed and ha’d, and had the impudence to ask pay- 
ment for those already supplied : on which, telling him I should 
withdraw my custom from him, I abruptly left him. The goldsmith 
too (a rascal Jew), declined to let me take a gold chain to which I 
had a fancy ; and I felt now, for the first time, in some perplexity. 
To add to it, one of the young gentlemen who frequented Mr. Fitz- 
simons’s boarding-house had received from me, in the way of play, an 
I 0 U for eighteen pounds (which I lost to him at piquet), and 
which, owing Mr. Curbyn, the livery-stable keeper, a bill, he passed 
into that person’s hands. Fancy my rage and astonishment, then, 
on going for my mare, to find that he positively refused to let 


50 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

have her out of the stable, except under payment of my promissory 
note ! It was in vain that I offered him his choice of four notes 
that I had in my pocket — one of Fitzsimons’s for ,£20, one of Coun- 
sellor Mulligan’s, and so forth ; the dealer, who was a Yorkshireman, 
shook his head, and laughed at every one of them ; and said, “ I 
tell you what, Master Redmond, you appear a young fellow of birth 
and fortune, and let me whisper in your ear that you have fallen 
into very bad hands — it’s a regular gang of swindlers ; and a gentle- 
man of your rank and quality should never be seen in such company. 
Go home : pack lip your valise, pay the little trifle to me, mount 
your mare, and ride back again to your parents, — it’s the very best 
thing you can do.” 

In a pretty nest of villains, indeed, was I plunged ! It seemed 
as if all my misfortunes were to break on me at once ; for, on going 
home and ascending to my bedroom in a disconsolate way, I found 
the Captain and his lady there before me, my valise open, my ward- 
robe lying on the ground, and my keys in the possession of the 
odious Fitzsimons. “ Whom have I been harbouring in my house ? ” 
roared he, as I entered the apartment. “ Who are you, sirrah 1 ?” 

Sirrah 1 Sir,” said I, “ I am as good a gentleman as any in 
Ireland.” 

“ You’re an impostor, young man : a schemer, a deceiver ! ” 
shouted the Captain. 

“ Repeat the words again, and I will run you through the body,” 
replied I. 

“ Tut, tut ! I can play at fencing as well as you, Mr. Redmond 
Barry. Ah ! you change colour, do you — your secret is known, is 
it? You come like a viper into the bosom of innocent families; 
you represent yourself as the heir of my friends the Redmonds of 
Castle Redmond ; I inthrojuice you to the nobility and genthry of 
this methropolis ” (the Captain’s brogue was large, and his words, 
by preference, long) ; “I take you to my tradesmen, who give you 
credit, and what do I find? That you have pawned the goods 
which you took up at their houses.” 

“ I have given them my acceptances, sir,” said I with a digni- 
fied air. 

“ Under what name , unhappy boy — under what name?” screamed 
Mrs. Fitzsimons ; and then, indeed, I remembered that I had signed 
the documents Barry Redmond instead of Redmond Barry : but what 
else could I do ? Had not my mother desired me to take no other 
designation ? After uttering a furious tirade against me, in which 
he spoke of the fatal discovery of my real name on my linen — of 
his misplaced confidence of affection, and the shame with which he 
' v, ild be obliged to meet his fashionable friends and confess that 


51 


MY HOST TURNS UPON ME 

he had harboured a swindler, he gathered up the linen, clothes, 
silver toilet articles, and the rest of my gear, saying that he should 
step out that moment for an officer and give me up to the just 
revenge of the law. 

During the first part of his speech, the thought of the impru- 
dence of which I had been guilty, and the predicament in which I 
was plunged, had so puzzled and confounded me, that I had not 
uttered a word in reply to the fellow’s abuse, but had stood quite 
dumb before him. The sense of danger, however, at once roused 
me to action. “Hark ye, Mr. Fitzsimons,” said I; “I will tell 
you why I was obliged to alter my name : which is Barry, and the 
best name in Ireland. I changed it, sir, because, on the day before 
I came to Dublin, I killed a man in deadly combat — an Englishman, 
sir, and a captain in His Majesty’s service ; and if you offer to let 
or hinder me in the slightest way, the same arm which destroyed 
him is ready to punish you ; and by Heaven, sir, you or I don’t 
leave this room alive ! ” 

So saying, I drew my sword like lightning, and giving a “ ha ! 
ha ! ” and a stamp with my foot, lunged within an inch of Fitz- 
simons’s heart, who started back and turned deadly pale, while his 
wife, with a scream, flung herself between us. 

“ Dearest Redmond,” she cried, “ be pacified. Fitzsimons, you 
don’t want the poor child’s blood. Let him escape — in Heaven’s 
name let him go.” 

“He may go hang for me,” said Fitzsimons sulkily; “and he’d 
better be off quickly, too, for the jeweller and the tailor have called 
once, and will be here again before long. It was Moses the pawn- 
broker that peached : I had the news from him myself.” By which 
I conclude that Mr. Fitzsimons had been with the new-laced frock- 
coat which he procured from the merchant-tailor on the day when 
the latter first gave me credit. 

What was the end of our conversation 1 Where was now a 
home for the descendant of the Barrys 1 Home was shut to me 
by my misfortune in the duel. I was expelled from Dublin by a 
persecution occasioned, I must confess, by my own imprudence. I 
had no time to wait and choose : no place of refuge to fly to. 
Fitzsimons, after his abuse of me, left the room growling, but not 
hostile; his wife insisted that we should shake hands, and he 
promised not to molest me. Indeed, I owed the fellow nothing ; 
and, on the contrary, had his acceptance actually in my pocket for 
money lost at play. As for my friend Mrs. Fitzsimons, she sat 
down on the bed and fairly burst out crying. She had her faults, 
but her heart was kind; and though she possessed but three 
shillings in the world, and fourpence in copper, the poor soul made 


52 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

me take it before I left her — to go — whither ? My mind was made 
up : there was a score of recruiting-parties in the town beating up 
for men to join our gallant armies in America and Germany ; I knew 
where to find one of these, having stood by the sergeant at a review 
in the Phoenix Park, where he pointed out to me characters on the 
field, for which I treated him to drink. 

I gave one of my shillings to Sullivan the butler of the Fitz- 
simonses, and, running into the street, hastened to the little alehouse 
at which my acquaintance was quartered, and before ten minutes 
had accepted His Majesty’s shilling. I told him frankly that I was 
a young gentleman in difficulties ; that I had killed an officer in 
a duel, and was anxious to get out of the country. But I need not 
have troubled myself with any explanations ; King George was too 
much in want of men then to heed from whence they came, and 
a fellow of my inches, the sergeant said, was always welcome. 
Indeed, I could not, he said, have chosen my time better. A trans- 
port was lying at Dunleary, waiting for a wind, and on board that 
ship, to which I marched that night, I made some surprising dis- 
coveries, which shall be told in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER IV 


IN WHICH BARRY TAKES A NEAR VIEW OF 
MILITARY GLORY 

1 NEVER had a taste for anything but genteel company, and 
hate all descriptions of low life. Hence my account of the 
society in which I at present found myself must of necessity be 
short ; and, indeed, the recollection of it is profoundly disagreeable 
to me. Pah ! the reminiscences of the horrid black-hole of a place 
in which we soldiers were confined ; of the wretched creatures with 
whom I was now forced to keep company ; of the ploughmen, 
poachers, pickpockets, who had taken refuge from poverty, or the 
law (as, in truth, I had done myself), is enough to make me ashamed 
even now, and it calls the blush into my old cheeks to think I was 
ever forced to keep such company. I should have fallen into despair, 
but that, luckily, events occurred to rouse my spirits, and in some 
measure to console me for my misfortunes. 

The first of these consolations I had was a good quarrel, which 
took place on the day after my entrance into the transport-ship, 
with a huge red-haired monster of a fellow — a chairman, who had 
enlisted to fly from a vixen of a wife, who, boxer as he was, had 
been more than a match for him. As soon as this fellow — Toole, 
I remember, was his name — got away from the arms of the washer- 
woman his lady, his natural courage and ferocity returned, and he 
became the tyrant of all round about him. All recruits, especially, 
were the object of the brute’s insult and ill-treatment. 

I had no money, as I said, and was sitting very disconsolately 
over a platter of rancid bacon and mouldy biscuit, which was served 
to us at mess, when it came to my turn to be helped to drink, and 
I was served, like the rest, with a dirty tin noggin, containing some- 
what more than half a pint of rum-and-water. The beaker was so 
greasy and filthy that I could not help turning round to the mess- 
man and saying, “ Fellow, get me a glass ! ” At which all the 
wretches round about me burst into a roar of laughter, the very 
loudest among them being, of course, Mr. Toole. “ Get the gentleman 
a towel for his hands, and serve him a basin of turtle-soup,” roared 
the monster, who was sitting, or rather squatting, on the deck 


54 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

opposite me ; and as he spoke he suddenly seized my beaker of grog 
and emptied it, in the midst of another burst of applause. 

“ If you want to vex him, ax him about his wife the washer- 
woman, who bates him,” here whispered in my ear another worthy, 
a retired linkboy, who, disgusted with his profession, had adopted 
the military life. 

“ Is it a towel of your wife’s washing, Mr. Toole % ” said I. 
“ I’m told she wiped your face often with one.” 

“ Ax him why he wouldn’t see her yesterday, when she came to 
the ship,” continued the linkboy. And so I put to him some other 
foolish jokes about soap-suds, henpecking, and flat-irons, which set 
the man into a fury, and succeeded in raising a quarrel between us. 
We should have fallen to at once, but a couple of grinning marines, 
who kept watch at the door, for fear we should repent of our bargain 
and have a fancy to escape, came forward and interposed between us 
with fixed bayonets ; but the sergeant coming down the ladder and 
hearing the dispute, condescended to say that we might fight it out 
like men with jistes if we chose, and that the fore-deck should be 
free to us for that purpose. But the use of Jistes, as the Englishman 
called them, was not then general in Ireland, and it was agreed that 
we should have a pair of cudgels ; with one of which weapons I 
finished the fellow in four minutes, giving him a thump across his 
stupid sconce which laid him lifeless on the deck, and not receiving 
myself a single hurt of consequence. 

This victory over the cock of the vile dunghill obtained me 
respect among the wretches of whom I formed part, and served to 
set up my spirits, which otherwise were flagging ; and my position 
was speedily made more bearable by the arrival on board our ship 
of an old friend. This was no other than my second in the fatal 
duel which had sent me thus early out into the world, Captain 
Fagan. There was a young nobleman who had a company in our 
regiment (G-ale’s foot), and who, preferring the delights of the Mall 
and the clubs to the dangers of a rough campaign, had given Fagan 
the opportunity of an exchange ; which, as the latter had no fortune 
but his sword, he was glad to make. The sergeant was putting 
us through our exercise on deck (the seamen and officers of the 
transport looking grinning on) when a boat came from the shore 
bringing our captain to the ship ; and though I started and blushed 
red as he recognised me — a descendant of the Barrys — in this 
degrading posture, I promise you that the sight of Fagan’s face was 
most welcome to me, for it assured me that a friend was near me. 
Before that I was so melancholy that I would certainly have 
deserted had I found the means, and had not the inevitable marines 
kept a watch to prevent any such escapes. Fagan gave me a wink 


CAPTAIN FAGAN BRINGS ME NEWS 55 

of recognition, but offered no public token of acquaintance ; it was 
not until two days afterwards, and when we had bidden adieu to 
old Ireland and were standing out to sea, that he called me into his 
cabin, and then, shaking hands with me cordially, gave me news, 
which I much wanted, of my family. “ I had news of you in 
Dublin,” he said. “ ’Faith, you’ve begun early, like your father’s 
son ; and I think you could not do better than as you have done. 
But why did you not write home to your poor mother 1 ? She has 
sent a half-dozen letters to you at Dublin.” 

I said I had asked for letters at the post-office, but there were 
none for Mr. Redmond. I did not like to add that I had been 
ashamed, after the first week, to write to my mother. 

“We must write to her by the pilot,” said he, “who will leave 
us in two hours ; and you can tell her that you are safe, and married 
to Brown Bess.” I sighed when he talked about being married ; on 
which he said with a laugh, “ I see you are thinking of a certain 
young lady at Brady’s Town.” 

“Is Miss Brady well?” said I; and indeed, could hardly utter 
it, for I certainly was thinking about her : for, though I had for- 
gotten her in the gaieties of Dublin, I have always found adversity 
makes man very affectionate. 

“There’s only seven Miss Bradys now,” answered Fagan, in a 
solemn voice. “ Poor Nora ” 

“Good heavens! what of her?” I thought grief had killed 

her. 

“ She took on so at your going away that she was obliged to 
console herself with a husband. She’s now Mrs. John Quin.” 

“ Mrs. John Quin ! Was there another Mr. John Quin ? ” 
asked I, quite wonder-stricken. 

“ No ; the very same one, my boy. He recovered from his 
wound. The ball you hit him with was not likely to hurt him. 
It was only made of tow. Do you think the Bradys would let you 
kill fifteen hundred a year out of the family?” And then Fagan 
further told me that, in order to get me out of the way — for the 
cowardly Englishman could never be brought to marry from fear of 
me — the plan of the duel had been arranged. “ But hit him you 
certainly did, Redmond, and with a fine thick plugget of tow ; and 
the fellow was so frightened, that he was an hour in coming to. 
We told your mother the story afterwards, and a pretty scene she 
made ; she despatched a half-score of letters to Dublin after you, 
but I suppose addressed them to you in your real name, by which 
you never thought to ask for them.” 

“ The coward ! ” said I (though, I confess, my mind was con- 
siderably relieved at the thoughts of not having killed him). “ And 


56 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

did the Bradys of Castle Brady consent to admit a poltroon like 
that into one of the most ancient and honourable families in the 
world ? ” 

“ He has paid off your uncle’s mortgage,” said Fagan ; “he gives 
Nora a coach-and-six ; he is to sell out, and Lieutenant Ulick Brady 
of the Militia is to purchase his company. That coward of a fellow 
has been the making of your uncle’s family. ’Faith ! the business 
was well done.” And then, laughing, he told me how Mick and 
Ulick had never let him out of their sight, although he was for 
deserting to England, until the marriage was completed and the 
happy couple off on their road to Dublin. “ Are you in want of 
cash, my boy?” continued the good-natured Captain. “You may 
draw upon me, for I got a couple of hundred out of Master Quin 
for my share, and while they last you shall never want.” 

And so he bade me sit down and write a letter to my mother, 
which I did forthwith in very sincere and repentant terms, stating 
that I had been guilty of extravagances, that I had not known until 
that moment under what a fatal error I had been labouring, and 
that I had embarked for Germany as a volunteer. The letter was 
scarcely finished when the pilot sang out that he was going on shore ; 
and he departed, taking with him, from many an anxious fellow 
besides myself, our adieux to friends in old Ireland. 

Although I was called Captain Barry for many years of my life, 
and have been known as such by the first people of Europe, yet I 
may as well confess I had no more claim to the title than many a 
gentleman who assumes it, and never had a right to an epaulet, or 
to any military decoration higher than a corporal’s stripe of worsted. 
I was made corporal by Fagan during our voyage to the Elbe, and 
my rank was confirmed on terra firma. I was promised a halbert, too,, 
and afterwards, perhaps, an ensigncy, if I distinguished myself ; but 
Fate did not intend that I should remain long an English soldier : 
as shall appear presently. Meanwhile, our passage was very favour- 
able ; my adventures were told by Fagan to his brother officers, who 
treated me with kindness ; and my victory over the big chairman 
procured me respect from my comrades of the fore-deck. Encour- 
aged and strongly exhorted by Fagan, I did my duty resolutely; 
but, though affable and good-humoured with the men, I never at 
first condescended to associate with such low fellows : and, indeed, 
was called generally amongst them “ my Lord.” I believe it was 
the ex-linkboy, a facetious knave, who gave me the title; and I 
felt that I should become such a rank as well as any peer in the 
kingdom. 

It would require a greater philosopher and historian than I am 
to explain the causes of the famous Seven Years’ War in which 


57 


THE ‘PROTESTANT HERO” 

Europe was engaged ; and, indeed, its origin has always appeared to 
me to be so complicated, and the books written about it so amazingly 
hard to understand, that I have seldom been much wiser at the end of 
a chapter than at the beginning, and so shall not trouble my reader 
with any personal disquisitions concerning the matter. All I know 
is, that after His Majesty’s love of his Hanoverian dominions had 
rendered him most unpopular in his English kingdom, with Mr. Pitt 
at the head of the anti-German war-party, all of a sudden, Mr. Pitt 
becoming Minister, the rest of the empire applauded the war as much 
as they had hated it before. The victories of Dettingen and Crefeld 
were in everybody’s mouths, and “ the Protestant hero,” as we used 
to call the godless old Frederick of Prussia, was adored by us as a 
saint, a very short time after we had been about to make war against 
him in alliance with the Empress-queen. Now, somehow, we were 
on Fredericks side : the Empress, the French, the Swedes, and the 
Russians, were leagued against us; and I remember, when the news 
of the battle of Lissa came even to our remote quarter of Ireland, we 
considered it as a triumph for the cause of Protestantism, and illumi- 
nated and bonfired, and had a sermon at church, and kept the Prussian 
king’s birthday ; on which my uncle would get drunk : as indeed 
on any other occasion. Most of the low fellows enlisted with myself 
were, of course, Papists (the English army was filled with such, out 
of that never-failing country of ours), and these, forsooth, were fight- 
ing the battles of Protestantism with Frederick ; who was belabour- 
ing the Protestant Swedes and the Protestant Saxons, as well as the 
Russians of the Greek Church, and the Papist troops of the Emperor 
and the King of France. It was against these latter that the English 
auxiliaries were employed, and we know that, be the quarrel what 
it may, an Englishman and a Frenchman are pretty willing to make 
a fight of it. 

We landed at Cuxhaven, and before I had been a month in the 
Electorate I was transformed into a tall and proper young soldier, 
and having a natural aptitude for military exercise, was soon as 
accomplished at the drill as the oldest sergeant in the regiment. It 
is well, however, to dream of glorious war in a snug arm-chair at 
home : ay, or to make it as an officer, surrounded by gentlemen, 
gorgeously dressed, and cheered by chances of promotion. But those 
chances do not shine on poor fellows in worsted lace : the rough 
texture of our red coats made me ashamed when I saw an officer 
go by ; my soul used to shudder when, on going the rounds, I would 
hear their voices as they sat jovially over the mess-table ; my pride 
revolted at being obliged to plaster my hair with flour and candle- 
grease, instead of using the proper pomatum for a gentleman. Yes, 
my tastes have always been high and fashionable, and I loathed the 


58 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

horrid company in which I was fallen. What chances had I of pro- 
motion? None of my relatives had money to buy me a commission, 
and I became soon so low-spirited, that I longed for a general action 
and a ball to finish me, and vowed that I would take some oppor- 
tunity to desert. 

When I think that I, the descendant of the kings of Ireland, was 
threatened with a caning by a young scoundrel who had just joined 
from Eton College — when I think that he offered to make me his 
footman, and that I did not, on either occasion, murder him ! On 
the first occasion I burst into tears (I do not care to own it) and had 
serious thoughts of committing suicide, so great was my mortification. 
But my kind friend Fagan came to my aid in the circumstance, with 
some very timely consolation. “ My poor boy,” said he, “ you must 
not take the matter to heart so. Caning is only a relative disgrace. 
Young Ensign Fakenham was flogged himself at Eton School only a 
month ago : I would lay a wager that his scars are not yet healed. 
You must cheer up, my boy ; do your duty, be a gentleman, and no 
serious harm can fall on you.” And I heard afterwards that my 
champion had taken Mr. Fakenham very severely to task for this 
threat, and said to him that any such proceedings for the future he 
should consider as an insult to himself; whereon the young ensign 
was, for the moment, civil. As for the sergeants, I told one of them, 
that if any man struck me, no matter who he might be, or what the 
penalty, I would take his life. And, ’faith ! there was an air of 
sincerity in my speech which convinced the whole bevy of them ; 
and as long as I remained in the English service no rattan was ever 
laid on the shoulders of Redmond Barry. Indeed, I was in that 
savage moody state, that my mind was quite made up to the point, 
and I looked to hear my own dead march played as sure as I was 
alive. When I was made a corporal, some of my evils were lessened ; 
I messed with the sergeants by special favour, and used to treat them 
to drink, and lose money to the rascals at play : with which cash 
my good friend Mr. Fagan punctually supplied me. 

Our regiment, which was quartered about Stade and Liineburg, 
speedily got orders to march southwards towards the Rhine, for 
news came that our great General, Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, 
had been defeated — no, not defeated, but foiled in his attack upon 
the French under the Duke of Broglio, at Bergen, near Frankfort- 
on-the-Main, and had been obliged to fall back. As the allies 
retreated the French rushed forward, and made a bold push for the 
Electorate of our gracious monarch in Hanover, threatening that 
they would occupy it ; as they had done before, when D’Estrdes 
beat the hero of Culloden, the gallant Duke of Cumberland, and 
caused him to sign the capitulation of Closter Zeven. An advance 


WE MARCH TOWARDS THE RHINE 59 

upon Hanover always caused a great agitation in the Royal bosom 
of the King of England ; more troops were sent to join us, convoys 
of treasure were passed over to our forces, and to our ally’s the 
King of Prussia ; and although, in spite of all assistance, the army 
under Prince Ferdinand was very much weaker than that of the 
invading enemy, yet we had the advantage of better supplies, one 
of the greatest Generals in the world : and, I was going to add, of 
British valour, but the less we say about that the better. My Lord 
George Sackville did not exactly cover himself with laurels at 
Minden ; otherwise there might have been won there one of the 
greatest victories of modern times. 

Throwing himself between the French and the interior of the 
Electorate, Prince Ferdinand wisely took possession of the free town 
of Bremen, which he made his storehouse and place of arms ; and 
round which he gathered all his troops, making ready to fight the 
famous battle of Minden. 

Were these memoirs not characterised by truth, and did I deign 
to utter a single word for which my own personal experience did 
not give me the fullest authority, I might easily make myself the 
hero of some strange and popular adventures, and, after the fashion 
of novel-writers, introduce my reader to the great characters of this 
remarkable time. These persons (I mean the romance-writers), if 
they take a drummer or a dustman for a hero, somehow manage to 
bring him in contact with the greatest lords and most notorious 
personages of the empire ; and I warrant me there’s not one of them 
but, in describing the battle of Minden, would manage to bring 
Prince Ferdinand, and my Lord George Sackville, and my Lord 
Granby, into presence. It would have been easy for me to have 
said I was present when the orders were brought to Lord George 
to charge with the cavalry and finish the rout of the Frenchmen, 
and when he refused to do so, and thereby spoiled the great victory. 
But the fact is, I was two miles off from the cavalry when his Lord- 
ship’s fatal hesitation took place, and none of us soldiers of the line 
knew of what had occurred until we came to talk about the fight 
over our kettles in the evening, and repose after the labours of a 
hard-fought day. I saw no one of higher rank that day than my 
colonel and a couple of orderly officers riding by in the smoke — no 
one on our side, that is. A poor corporal (as I then had the disgrace 
of being) is not generally invited into the company of commanders 
and the great ; but, in revenge, I saw, I promise you, some very 
good company on the French part, for their regiments of Lorraine 
and Royal Cravate were charging us all day ; and in that sort of 
melee high and low are pretty equally received. I hate bragging, 
but I cannot help saying that I made a very close acquaintance with 


60 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

the colonel of the Cravates ; for I drove my bayonet into his body 
and finished off a poor little ensign, so young, slender, and small, 
that a blow from my pigtail would have despatched him, I think, 
in place of the butt of my musket, with which I clubbed him down. 
I killed, besides, four more officers and men, and in the poor ensign’s 
pocket found a purse of fourteen louis-d’or, and a silver box of sugar- 
plums ; of which the former present was very agreeable to me. If 
people would tell their stories of battles in this simple way, I think 
the cause of truth would not suffer by it. All I know of this 
famous fight of Minden (except from books) is told here above. The 
ensign’s silver bonbon box and his purse of gold ; the livid face of 
the poor fellow as he fell ; the huzzas of the men of my company as 
I went out under a smart fire and rifled him ; their shouts and 
curses as we came hand in hand with the Frenchmen, — these are, 
in truth, not very dignified recollections, and had best be passed 
over briefly. When my kind friend Fagan was shot, a brother 
captain, and his very good friend, turned to Lieutenant Rawson and 
said, “ Fagan’s down ; Rawson, there’s your company.” It was all 
the epitaph my brave patron got. “I should have left you a 
hundred guineas, Redmond,” were his last words to me, “ but for a 
cursed run of ill luck last night at faro.” And he gave me a faint 
squeeze of the hand ; then, as the word was given to advance, I left 
him. When we came back to our old ground, which we presently 
did, he was lying there still ; but he was dead. Some of our people 
had already torn off his epaulets, and, no doubt, had rifled his purse. 
Such knaves and ruffians do men in war become ! It is well for 
gentlemen to talk of the age of chivalry ; but remember the starving 
brutes whom they lead — men nursed in poverty, entirely ignorant, 
made to take a pride in deeds of blood— men who can have no 
amusement but in drunkenness, debauch, and plunder. It is with 
these shocking instruments that your great warriors and kings have 
been doing their murderous work in the world ; and while, for 
instance, we are at the present moment admiring the “ Great 
Frederick,” as we call him, and his philosophy, and his liberality, 
and his military genius, I, who have served him, and been, as it 
were, behind the scenes of which that great spectacle is composed, 
can only look at it with horror. What a number of items of human 
crime, misery, slavery, go to form that sum-total of glory ! I can 
recollect a certain day, about three weeks after the battle of Minden, 
and a farmhouse in which some of us entered ; and how the old 
woman and her daughters served us, trembling, to wine ; and how 
we got drunk over the wine, and the house was in a flame, presently ; 
and woe betide the wretched fellow afterwards who came home to 
look for his house and his children ! 


CHAPTER V 


IN WHICH BARRY TRIES TO REMOVE AS FAR FROM 
MILITARY GLORY AS POSSIBLE 

A FTER the death of my protector, Captain Fagan, I am forced 
to confess that I fell into the very worst of courses and 
L company. Being a rough soldier of fortune himself, he had 
never been a favourite with the officers of his regiment ; who had a 
contempt for Irishmen, as Englishmen sometimes will have, and 
used to mock his brogue, and his blunt uncouth manners. I had 
been insolent to one or two of them, and had only been screened 
from punishment by his intercession ; especially his successor, Mr. 
Rawson, had no liking for me, and put another man into the 
sergeant’s place vacant in his company after the battle of Minden. 
This act of injustice rendered my service very disagreeable to me ; 
and, instead of seeking to conquer the dislike of my superiors, and 
win their goodwill by good behaviour, I only sought for means to 
make my situation easier to me, and grasped at all the amusements 
in my power. In a foreign country, with the enemy before us, 
and .the people continually under contribution from one side or the 
other, numberless irregularities were permitted to the troops which 
would not have been allowed in more peaceable times. I descended 
gradually to mix with the sergeants, and to share their amusements : 
drinking and gambling were, I am sorry to say, our principal 
pastimes ; and I fell so readily into their ways, that though only a 
young lad of seventeen, I was the master of them all in daring 
wickedness ; though there were some among them who, I promise 
you, were far advanced in the science of every kind of profligacy. 
I should have been under the provost-marshal’s hands, for a dead 
certainty, had I continued much longer in the army : but an 
accident occurred which took me out of the English service in rather 
a singular manner. 

The year in which George II. died, our regiment had the honour 
to be present at the battle of Warburg (where the Marquis of 
Granby and his horse fully retrieved the discredit which had fallen 
upon the cavalry since Lord George Sackville’s defalcation at 
Minden), and where Prince Ferdinand once more completely de- 


62 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

feated the Frenchmen. During the action, my lieutenant, Mr. 
Fakenham, of Fakenham, the gentleman who had threatened me, it 
may be remembered, with the caning, was struck by a musket-ball 
in the side. He had shown no want of courage in this or any other 
occasion where he had been called upon to act against the French ; 
but this was his first wound, and the young gentleman was exceed- 
ingly frightened by it. He offered five guineas to be carried into 
the town, which was hard by ; and I and another man, taking him 
up in a cloak, managed to transport him into a place of decent 
appearance, where we put him to bed, and where a young surgeon 
(who desired nothing better than to take himself out of the fire of 
the musketry) went presently to dress his wound. 

In order to get into the house, we had been obliged, it must be 
confessed, to fire into the locks with our pieces; which summons 
brought an inhabitant of the house to the door, a very pretty and 
black-eyed young woman, who lived there with her old half-blind 
father, a retired Jagdmeister of the Duke of Cassel, hard by. When 
the French were in the town, Meinherr’s house had suffered like 
those of his neighbours ; and he was at first exceedingly unwilling 
to accommodate his guests. But the first knocking at the door had 
the effect of bringing a speedy answer ; and Mr. Fakenham, taking 
a couple of guineas out of a very full purse, speedily convinced the 
people that they had only to deal with a person of honour. 

Leaving the doctor (who was very glad to stop) with his 
patient, who paid me the stipulated reward, I was returning to my 
regiment with my other comrade — after having paid, in my German 
jargon, some deserved compliments to the black-eyed beauty of 
Warburg, and thinking, with no small envy, how comfortable it 
would be to be billeted there — when the private who was with me 
cut short my reveries by suggesting that we should divide the five 
guineas the lieutenant had given me. 

“There is your share,” said I, giving the fellow one piece; 
which was plenty, as I was the leader of the expedition. But he 
swore a dreadful oath that he would have half ; and, when I told 
him to go to a quarter which I shall not name, the fellow, lifting 
his musket, hit me a blow with the butt-end of it, which sent me 
lifeless to the ground: when I awoke from my trance, I found 
myself bleeding with a large wound in the head, and had barely 
time to stagger back to the house where I had left the lieutenant, 
when I again fell fainting at the door. 

Here I must have been discovered by the surgeon on his issuing 
out ; for when I awoke a second time I found myself in the ground- 
floor of the house, supported by the black-eyed girl, while the 
surgeon was copiously bleeding me at the arm. There was another 


MY WOUNDED LIEUTENANT 63 

bed in the room where the lieutenant had been laid, — it was that 
occupied by Gretel, the servant ; while Lischen, as my fair one was 
called, had, till now, slept in the couch where the wounded 
officer lay. 

“ Who are you putting into that bed ! ” said he languidly, in 
German ; for the ball had been extracted from his side, with much 
pain and loss of blood. 

They told him it was the corporal who had brought him. 

“ A corporal 1 ” said he, in English ; “ turn him out.” And you 
may be sure I felt highly complimented by the words. But we 
were both too faint to compliment or to abuse each other much, and 
I was put to bed carefully ; and, on being undressed, had an oppor- 
tunity to find that my pockets had been rifled by the English 
soldier after he had knocked me down. However, I was in good 
quarters : the young lady who sheltered me presently brought me a 
refreshing drink; and, as I took it, I could not help pressing the 
kind hand that gave it me ; nor, in truth, did this token of my 
gratitude seem unwelcome. 

This intimacy did not decrease with further acquaintance. I 
found Lischen the tenderest of nurses. Whenever any delicacy was 
to be provided for the wounded lieutenant, a share was always sent 
to the bed opposite his, and to the avaricious man’s no small annoy- 
ance. His illness was long. On the second day the fever declared 
itself; for some nights he was delirious; and I remember it was 
when a commanding officer was inspecting our quarters, with an 
intention, very likely, of billeting himself on the house, that the 
howling and mad words of the patient overhead struck him, and he 
retired rather frightened. I had been sitting up very comfortably 
in the lower apartment, for my hurt was quite subsided ; and it was 
only when the officer asked me with a rough voice, w r hy I was not 
at my regiment, that I began to reflect how pleasant my quarters 
were to me, and that I was much better here than crawling under 
an odious tent with a parcel of tipsy soldiers, or going the night- 
rounds, or rising long before daybreak for drill. 

The delirium of Mr. Fakenham gave me a hint, and I deter- 
mined forthwith to go mad. There was a poor fellow about Brady’s 
Town called “ Wandering Billy,” whose insane pranks I had often 
mimicked as a lad, and I again put them in practice. That night 
I made an attempt upon Lischen, saluting her with a yell and a 
grin which frightened her almost out of her wits ; and when any- 
body came I was raving. The blow on the head had disordered my 
brain ; the doctor was ready to vouch for this fact. One night I whis- 
pered to him that I was Julius Caesar, and considered him to be my 
affianced wife Queen Cleopatra, which convinced him of my insanity. 


6*4 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Indeed, if Her Majesty had been like my iEsculapius, she must have 
had a carroty beard, such as is rare in Egypt. 

A movement on the part of the French speedily caused an 
advance on our part. The town was evacuated, except by a few 
Prussian troops, whose surgeons were to visit the wounded in the 
place ; and, when we were well, we were to be drafted to our regi- 
ments. I determined that I never would join mine again. My 
intention was to make for Holland, almost the only neutral country 
of Europe in those times, and thence to get a passage somehow to 
England, and home to dear old Brady’s Town. 

If Mr. Fakenham is now alive, I here tender him my apologies 
for my conduct to him. He was very rich ; he used me very ill. 
I managed to frighten away his servant who came to attend him 
after the affair of Warburg, and from that time would sometimes 
condescend to wait upon the patient, who always treated me with 
scorn ; but it was my object to have him alone, and I bore his 
brutality with the utmost civility and mildness, meditating in my 
own mind a very pretty return for all his favours to me. Nor was 
I the only person in the house to whom the worthy gentleman was 
uncivil. He ordered the fair Lisclien hither and thither, made im- 
pertinent love to her, abused her soups, quarrelled with her omelettes, 
and grudged the money which was laid out for his maintenance ; so 
that our hostess detested him as much as, I think, without vanity, 
she regarded me. 

For, if the truth must be told, I had made very deep love to 
her during my stay under her roof; as is always my way with 
women, of whatever age or degree of beauty. To a man who has 
to make his way in the world, these dear girls can always be useful 
in one fashion or another ; never mind, if they repel your passion ; 
at any rate, they are not offended with your declaration of it, and 
only look upon you with more favourable eyes in consequence of 
your misfortune. As for Lischen, I told her such a pathetic story 
of my life (a tale a great deal more romantic than that here narrated, 
— for I did not restrict myself to the exact truth in that history, as 
in these pages I am bound to do), that I won the poor girl’s heart 
entirely, and, besides, made considerable progress in the German 
language under her instruction. Do not think me very cruel and 
heartless, ladies ; this heart of Lischen’s was like many a town in 
the neighbourhood in which she dwelt, and had been stormed and 
occupied several times before I came to invest it ; now mounting 
French colours, now green and yellow Saxon, now black and white 
Prussian, as the case may be. A lady who sets her heart upon a lad 
in uniform must prepare to change lovers pretty quickly, or her life 
will be but a sad one. 


I PERSONATE THE LIEUTENANT 65 

The German surgeon who attended us after the departure of the 
English only condescended to pay our house a visit twice during my 
residence ; and I took care, for a reason I had, to receive him in a 
darkened room, much to the annoyance of Mr. Fakenham, who lay 
there : but I said the light affected my eyes dreadfully since my 
blow on the head ; and so I covered up my head with clothes when 
the doctor came, and told him that I was an Egyptian mummy, 
or talked to him some insane nonsense, in order to keep up my 
character. 

“What is that nonsense you were talking about an Egyptian 
mummy, fellow ? ” asked Mr. Fakenham peevishly. 

“ Oh ! you’ll know soon, sir,” said I. 

The next time that I expected the doctor to come, instead of 
receiving him in a darkened room, with handkerchiefs muffled, I 
took care to be in the lower room, and was having a game at cards 
with Lischen as the surgeon entered. I had taken possession of a 
dressing-jacket of the lieutenant’s, and some other articles of his 
wardrobe, which fitted me pretty well, and, I flatter myself, was no 
ungentlemanlike figure. 

“Good-morrow, corporal,” said the Doctor, rather gruffly, in 
reply to my smiling salute. 

“ Corporal ! Lieutenant, if you please,” answered I, giving an 
arch look at Lischen, whom I had instructed in my plot. 

“How lieutenant ? ” asked the surgeon. “ I thought the 
lieutenant was ” 

“ Upon my word, you do me great honour,” cried I, laughing ; 
“ you mistook me for the mad corporal upstairs. The fellow has 
once or twice pretended to be an officer, but my kind hostess here 
can answer which is which.” 

“ Yesterday he fancied he was Prince Ferdinand,” said Lischen ; 
“ the day you came he said he was an Egyptian mummy.” 

“ So he did,” said the doctor ; “I remember ; but, ha ! ha ! do 
you know, Lieutenant, I have in my notes made a mistake in you 
two 1 ” 

“ Don’t talk to him about his malady ; he is calm now.” 

Lischen and I laughed at this error as at the most ridiculous 
thing in the world ; and, when the surgeon went up to examine his 
patient, I cautioned him not to talk to him about the subject of 
his malady, for he was in a very excited state. 

The reader will be able to gather from the above conversation 
what my design really was. I was determined to escape, and to 
escape under the character of Lieutenant Fakenham ; taking it from 
him to his face, as it were, and making use of it to meet my im- 
perious necessity. It was forgery and robbery, if you like ; for I took 


66 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

all his money and clothes, — I don’t care to conceal it ; but the need 
was so urgent, that I would do so again : and I knew I could not 
effect my escape without his purse, as well as his name. Hence it 
became my duty to take possession of one and the other. 

As the lieutenant lay still in bed upstairs, I did not hesitate at 
all about assuming his uniform, especially after taking care to inform 
myself from the doctor whether any men of ours who might know 
me were in the town. But there were none that I could hear of; 
and so I calmly took my walks with Madame Lischen, dressed in 
the lieutenant’s uniform, made inquiries as to a horse that I wanted 
to purchase, reported myself to the commandant of the place as 
Lieutenant Fakenham, of Gale’s English regiment of foot, conva- 
lescent, and was asked to dine with the officers of the Prussian 
regiment at a very sorry mess they had. How Fakenham would 
have stormed and raged, had he known the use I was making of 
his name ! 

Whenever that worthy used to inquire about his clothes, which 
he did with many oaths and curses that he would have me caned at 
the regiment for inattention, I, with a most respectful air, informed 
him that they were put away in perfect safety below ; and, in fact, 
had them very neatly packed, and ready for the day when I pro- 
posed to depart. His papers and money, however, he kept under 
his pillow ; and, as I had purchased a horse, it became necessary to 
pay for it. 

At a certain hour, then, I ordered the animal to be brought 
round, when I would pay the dealer for him (I shall pass over 
my adieux with my kind hostess, which were very tearful indeed), 
and then, making up my mind to the great action, walked upstairs 
to Fakenham’s room attired in his full regimentals, and with his 
hat cocked over my left eye. 

“ You gwe at scoundrel ! ” said he, with a multiplicity of oaths ; 
“you mutinous dog ! what do you mean by dressing yourself in my 
regimentals'? As sure as my name is Fakenham, when we get 
back to the regiment, I’ll have your soul cut out of your body.” 

“ I’m promoted, Lieutenant,” said I, with a sneer. “ I’m come 
to take my leave of you ; ” and then going up to his bed, I said, “ I 
intend to have your papers and purse.” With this I put my hand 
under his pillow ; at which he gave a scream that might have called 
the whole garrison about my ears. “ Hark ye, sir ! ” said I, “ no 
more noise, or you are a dead man ! ” and taking a handkerchief, 
I bound it tight around his mouth so as well-nigh to throttle him, 
and, pulling forward the sleeves of his shirt, tied them in a knot 
together, and so left him ; removing the papers and the purse, you 
may be sure, and wishing him politely a good day. 


I LEAVE THE ARMY 67 

“ It is the mad corporal,” said I to the people down below who 
were attracted by the noise from the sick man’s chamber \ and so 
taking leave of the old blind Jagdmeister, and an adieu (I will not 
say how tender) of his daughter, I mounted my newly-purchased 
animal ; and, as I pranced away, and the sentinels presented arms 
to me at the town-gates, felt once more that I was in my proper 
sphere, and determined never again to fall from the rank of a 
gentleman. 

I took at first the way towards Bremen, where our army was, 
and gave out that I was bringing reports and letters from the 
Prussian commandant of Warburg to headquarters ; but, as soon as 
I got out of sight of the advanced sentinels, I turned bridle and 
rode into the Hesse Cassel territory, which is luckily not very far 
from Warburg: and I promise you I was very glad to see the 
blue-and-red stripes on the barriers, which showed me that I was 
out of the land occupied by our countrymen. I rode to Hof, and 
the next day to Cassel, giving out that I was the bearer of despatches 
to Prince Henry, then on the Lower Rhine, and put up at the best 
hotel of the place, where the field-officers of the garrison had their 
ordinary. These gentlemen I treated to the best wines that the 
house afforded, for I was determined to keep up the character of the 
English gentleman, and I talked to them about my English estates 
with a fluency that almost made me believe in the stories which I 
invented. I was even asked to an assembly at Wilhelmshohe, the 
Elector’s palace, and danced a minuet there with the Hofmarshal’s 
lovely daughter, and lost a few pieces to his excellency the first 
huntmaster of his Highness. 

At our table at the inn there was a Prussian officer who treated 
me with great civility, and asked me a thousand questions about 
England ; which I answered as best I might. But this best, I am 
bound to say, was bad enough. I knew nothing about England, 
and the Court, and the noble families there ; but, led away by the 
vaingloriousness of youth (and a piopensity which I possessed in 
my early days, but of which I have long since corrected myself, to 
boast and talk in a manner not altogether consonant with truth), 
I invented a thousand stories which I told him ; described the Ring 
and the Ministers to him, said the British Ambassador at Berlin 
w T as my uncle, and promised my acquaintance a letter of recommen- 
dation to him. When the officer asked me my uncle’s name, I was 
not able to give him the real name, and so said his name was 
O’Grady : it is as good a name as any other, and those of Kilbally- 
owen, county Cork, are as good a family as any in the world, as I 
have heard. As for stories about my regiment, of these, of course I 
had no lack. I wish my other histories had been equally authentic. 


6*8 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

On the morning I left Cassel, my Prussian friend came to me 
with an open smiling countenance, and said he, too, was bound for 
Diisseldorf, whither I said my route lay; and so laying our horses’ 
heads together we jogged on. The country was desolate beyond 
description. The prince in whose dominions we were was known 
to be the most ruthless seller of men in Germany. He w r ould sell 
to any bidder, and during the five years which the war (afterwards 
called the Seven Years’ War) had now lasted, had so exhausted the 
males of his principality, that the fields remained untilled : even 
the children of twelve years old were driven off to the war, and 
I saw herds of these wretches marching forwards, attended by a 
few troopers, now under the guidance of a red-coated Hanoverian 
sergeant, now with a Prussian sub-officer accompanying them ; with 
some of whom my companion exchanged signs of recognition. 

“It hurts my feelings,” said he, “to be obliged to commune 
with such wretches ; but the stern necessities of war demand men 
continually, and hence these recruiters whom you see market in 
human flesh. They get five-aud-twenty dollars from our Government 
for every man they bring in. For fine men — for men like you,” he 
added, laughing, “ we would go as high as a hundred. In the old 
King’s time we would have given a thousand for you, when he had 
liis giant regiment that our present monarch disbanded.” 

“ I knew one of them,” said I, “ who served with you ; we used 
to call him Morgan Prussia.” 

“ Indeed ! and who was this Morgan Prussia ? ” 

“ Why, a huge grenadier of ours, who was somehow snapped up 
in Hanover by some of your recruiters.” 

“ The rascals ! ” said my friend : “ and did they dare take an 
Englishman ? ” 

“’Faith this was an Irishman, and a great deal too sharp for 
them; as you shall hear. Morgan was taken, then, and drafted 
into the giant guard, and was the biggest man almost among all the 
giants there. Many of these monsters used to complain of their 
life, and their caning, and their long drills, and their small pay; 
but Morgan was not one of the grumblers. ‘It’s a deal better,’ 
said he, ‘to get fat here in Berlin than to starve in rags in 
Tipperary ! ’ ” 

“Where is Tipperary?” asked my companion. 

“That is exactly what Morgan’s friends asked him. It is a 
beautiful district in Ireland, the capital of which is the magnificent 
city of Clonmel : a city, let me tell you, sir, only inferior to Dublin 
and London, and far more sumptuous than any on the Continent. 
Well, Morgan said that his birthplace was near that city, and the 
only thing which caused him unhappiness, in his present situation, 


A FAMILY OF GIANTS 69 

was the thought that his brothers were still starving at home, when 
they might be so much better off in His Majesty’s service. 

“ ‘ ’Faith,’ says Morgan to the sergeant, to whom he imparted 
the information, ‘it’s my brother Bin that would make the fine 
sergeant of the guards, entirely ! ’ 

“ ‘ Is Ben as tall as you are ? ’ asked the sergeant. 

“ ‘ As tall as me , is it ? Why, man, I’m the shortest of my 
family ! There’s six more of us, but Bin’s the biggest of all. Oh ! 
out and out the biggest. Seven feet in his stockin-/^, as sure as 
my name’s Morgan ! ’ 

“ ‘ Can’t we send and fetch them over, these brothers of yours ? ’ 

“ ‘ Not you. Ever since I was seduced by one of you gentlemen 
of the cane, they’ve a mortal aversion to all sergeants,’ answered 
Morgan : ‘ but it’s a pity they cannot come, too. What a monster 
Bin would be in a grenadier’s cap ! ’ 

“ He said nothing more at the time regarding his brothers, but 
only sighed as if lamenting their hard fate. However, the story 
was told by the sergeant to the officers, and by the officers to the 
King himself ; and His Majesty was so inflamed by curiosity, that 
he actually consented to let Morgan go home in order to bring back 
with him his seven enormous brothers.” 

“ And were they as big as Morgan pretended ? ” asked my 
comrade. I could not help laughing at his simplicity. 

“Do you suppose,” cried I, “that Morgan ever came back? 
No, no ; once free, he was too wise for that. He has bought a 
snug farm in Tipperary with the money that was given him to 
secure his brothers; and I fancy few men of the guards ever 
profited sq^mucli by it.” 

The Prussian captain laughed exceedingly at this story, said 
that the English were the cleverest nation in the world, and, on 
my setting him right, agreed that the Irish were even more so. 
We rode on very well pleased with each other; for he had a 
thousand stories of the war to tell, of the skill and gallantry of 
Frederick, and the thousand escapes, and victories, and defeats 
scarcely less glorious than victories, through which the King had 
passed. Now that I was a gentleman, I could listen with admira- 
tion to these tales : and yet the sentiment recorded at the end of 
the last chapter was uppermost in my mind but three weeks back, 
when I remembered that it was the great general got the glory, and 
the poor soldier only insult and the cane. 

“ By the way, to whom are you taking despatches ? ” asked the 
officer. 

It was another ugly question, which I determined to answer at 
haphazard ; and so I said, “To General Rolls.” I had seen the 


70 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

general a year before, and gave the first name in my head. My 
friend was quite satisfied with it, and we continued our ride until 
evening came on ; and our horses being weary, it was agreed that 
we should come to a halt. 

“ There is a very good inn,” said the Captain, as we rode up to 
what appeared to me a very lonely-looking place. 

“ This may be a very good inn for Germany,” said I, “ but it 
would not pass in old Ireland. Corbach is only a league off : let 
us push on for Corbach.” 

“ Do you want to see the loveliest woman in Europe 'l ” said the 
officer. “ Ah ! you sly rogue, I see that will influence you ; ” and, 
truth to say, such a proposal tvas always welcome to me, as I don’t 
care to own. “The people are great farmers,” said the Captain, 
“as well as innkeepers;” and, indeed, the place seemed more a 
farm than an inn-yard. We entered by a great gate into a court 
walled round, and at one end of which was the building, a dingy 
ruinous place. A couple of covered waggons were in the court, their 
horses were littered under a shed hard by, and lounging about 
the place were some men, and a pair of sergeants in the Prussian 
uniform, who both touched their hats to my friend the Captain. 
This customary formality struck me as nothing extraordinary ; but 
the aspect of the inn had something exceedingly chilling and for- 
bidding in it, and I observed the men shut-to the great yard-gates 
as soon as we were entered. Parties of French horsemen, the 
Captain said, were about the country, and one could not take too 
many precautions against such villains. 

We went in to supper, after the two sergeants had taken charge 
of our horses ; the Captain, also, ordering one of them to take my 
valise to my bedroom. I promised the worthy fellow a glass of 
schnapps for his pains. 

A dish of fried eggs and bacon was ordered from a hideous old 
wench that came to serve us, in place of the lovely creature I had 
expected to see ; and the Captain, laughing, said, “ Well, our meal 
is a frugal one, but a soldier has many a time a worse;” and, 
taking off his hat, sword-belt, and gloves, with great ceremony, he 
sat down to eat. I would not be behindhand with him in polite- 
ness, and put my weapon securely on the old chest of drawers where 
his was laid. 

The hideous old woman before mentioned brought us in a pot of 
very sour wine, at which and at her ugliness I felt a considerable 
ill-humour. 

“ Where’s the beauty you promised me ? ” said I, as soon as the 
old hag had left the room. 

“Bah!” said he, laughing, and looking hard at me: “it was 


FORCED TO SERVE FREDERICK 


71 


my joke. I was tired, and did not care to go farther. There’s no 
prettier woman here than that. If she won’t suit your fancy, my 
friend, you must wait awhile.” 

This increased my ill-humour. 

“Upon my word, sir,” said I sternly, “ I think you have acted 
very coolly ! ” 

“ I have acted as I think fit ! ” replied the Captain. 

“ Sir,” said I, “ I’m a British officer ! ” 

“ It’s a fie ! ” roared the other, “ you’re a deserter ! You’re 
an impostor, sir; I have known you for such these three hours. 
I suspected you yesterday. My men heard of a man escaping 
from Warburg, and I thought you were the man. Your lies and 
folly have confirmed me. You pretend to carry despatches to a 
general who has been dead these ten months : you have an uncle 
who is an ambassador, and whose name forsooth you don’t know. 
Will you join and take the bounty, sir ; or will you be given up ? ” 

“ Neither ! ” said I, springing at him like a tiger. But, agile 
as I was, he was equally on his guard. He took two pistols out 
of his pocket, fired one off, and said, from the other end of the 
table where he stood dodging me, as it were — 

“ Advance a step, and I send this bullet into your brains ! ” 
In another minute the door was flung open, and the two sergeants 
entered, armed with musket and bayonet to aid their comrade. 

The game was up. I flung down a knife with which I had 
armed myself ; for the old hag on bringing in the wine had removed 
my sword. 

“ I volunteer,” said I. 

“ That’s my good fellow. What name shall I put on my list 1 ” 

“Write Redmond Barry of Bally Barry,” said I haughtily ; “a 
descendant of the Irish kings ! ” 

“ I was once with the Irish Brigade, Roche’s,” said the recruiter, 
sneering, “ trying if I could get any likely fellows among the few 
countrymen of yours that are in the brigade, and there was scarcely 
one of them that was not descended from the kings of Ireland.” 

“ Sir,” said I, “ king or not, I am a gentleman, as you can see.” 

“ Oh ! you will find plenty more in our corps,” answered the 
Captain, still in the sneering mood. “ Give up your papers, Mr. 
Gentleman, and let us see who you really are.” 

As my pocket-book contained some bank-notes as well as papers 
of Mr. Fakenham’s, I was not willing to give up my property; 
suspecting very rightly that it was but a scheme on the part of 
the Captain to get and keep it. 

“It can matter very little to you,” said I, “what my private 
papers are : I am enlisted under the name of Redmond Barry.” 


72 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“ Give it up, sirrah ! ” said the Captain, seizing his cane. 

“ I will not give it up ! ” answered I. 

“Hound! do you mutiny'?” screamed he, and at the same time 
gave me a lash across the face with the cane, which had the antici- 
pated effect of producing a struggle. I dashed forward to grapple 
with him, the two sergeants flung themselves on me, I was thrown 
to the ground and stunned again ; being hit on my former wound in 
the head. It was bleeding severely when I came to myself, my 
laced coat was already torn oft* my back, my purse and papers gone, 
and my hands tied behind my back. 

The great and illustrious Frederick had scores of these white 
slave-dealers all round the frontiers of his kingdom, debauching 
troops or kidnapping peasants and hesitating at no crime to supply 
those brilliant troops of his with food for powder; and I cannot 
help telling here, with some satisfaction, the fate, which ultimately 
befell the atrocious scoundrel who, violating all the rights of friend- 
ship and good-fellowship, had just succeeded in entrapping me. 
This individual was a person of high family and known talents and 
courage, but who had a propensity to gambling and extravagance, 
and found his calling as a recruit-decoy far more profitable to him 
than his pay of second captain in the line. The sovereign, too, 
probably found his services more useful in the former capacity. 
His name was Monsieur de Galgenstein, and he was one of the 
most successful of the practisers of his rascally trade. He spoke 
all languages, and knew all countries, and hence had no difficulty 
in finding out the simple braggadocio of a young lad like me. 

About 1765, however, he came to his justly merited end. He 
was at this time living at Kehl, opposite Strasburg, and used to 
take his walk upon the bridge there, and get into conversation 
with the French advanced sentinels ; to whom he was in the habit 
of promising “ mountains and marvels,” as the French say, if they 
would take service in Prussia. One day there was on the bridge 
a superb grenadier, whom Galgenstein accosted, and to whom he 
promised a company, at least, if he would enlist under Frederick. 

“ Ask my comrade yonder,” said the grenadier ; “ I can do 
nothing without him. We were bom and bred together, we are of 
the same company, sleep in the same room, and always go in pairs. 
If he will go and you will give him a captaincy, I will go too.” 

“ Bring your comrade over to Kehl,” said Galgenstein, delighted. 
“ I will give you the best of dinners, and can promise to satisfy 
both of you.” 

“ Had you not better speak to him on the bridge 1 ?” said the 
grenadier. “ I dare not leave my post ; but you have but to pass, 
and talk over the matter.” 


FATE OF GALGENSTEIN 


73 


Galgenstein, after a little parley, passed the sentinel; but 
presently a panic took him, and he retraced his steps. But the 
grenadier brought his bayonet to the Prussian’s breast and bade 
him stand : that he was his prisoner. 

The Prussian, however, seeing his danger, made a bound across 
the bridge and into the Rhine ; whither, flinging aside his musket, 
the intrepid sentry followed him. The Frenchman was the better 
swimmer of the two, seized upon the recruiter, and bore him to the 
Strasburg side of the stream, where he gave him up. 

“You deserve to be shot,” said the general to him, “for 
abandoning your post and arms ; but you merit reward for an 
act of courage and daring. The King prefers to reward you,” and 
the man received money and promotion. 

As for Galgenstein, he declared his quality as a nobleman and 
a captain in the Prussian service, and applications were made to 
Berlin to know if his representations were true. But the King, 
though he employed men of this stamp (officers to seduce the sub- 
jects of his allies) could not acknowledge his own shame. Letters 
were written back from Berlin to say that such a family existed in 
the kingdom, but that the person representing himself to belong to 
it must be an impostor, for every officer of the name was at his 
regiment and his post. It was Galgenstein’s death-warrant, and 
he was hanged as a spy in Strasburg. 


“ Turn him into the cart with the rest,” said he, as soon as I 
awoke from my trance. 


CHAPTER VI 

THE CRIMP WAGGON— MILITARY EPISODES 

T HE covered waggon to which I was ordered to march was 
standing, as I have said, in the courtyard of the farm, with 
another dismal vehicle of the same kind hard by it. Each 
was pretty well filled with a crew of men, whom the atrocious crimp 
who had seized upon me, had enlisted under the banners of the 
glorious Frederick ; and I could see by the lanterns of the sentinels, 
as they thrust me into the straw, a do2en dark figures huddled 
together in the horrible moving prison where I was now to be con- 
fined. A scream and a curse from my opposite neighbour showed 
me that he was most likely wounded, as I myself was ; and, during 
the whole of the wretched night, the moans and sobs of the poor 
fellows in similar captivity kept up a continual painful chorus, 
which effectually prevented my getting any relief from my ills in 
sleep. At midnight (as far as I could judge) the horses were put 
to the waggons, and the creaking lumbering machines were put in 
motion. A couple of soldiers, strongly armed, sat on the outer 
bench of the cart, and their grim faces peered in with their lanterns 
every now and then through the canvas curtains, that they might 
count the number of their prisoners. The brutes were half drunk, 
and were singing love and war songs, such as “0 Gretchen mein 
Taubchen, mein Herzenstrompet, Mein Kanon, mein Heerpauk und 
meine Musket,” “Prinz Eugen der edle Ritter,” and the like; 
their wild whoops and jodels, making doleful discord with the 
groans of us captives within the waggons. Many a time afterwards 
have I heard these ditties sung on the march, or in the barrack- 
room, or round the fires as we lay out at night. 

I was not near so unhappy, in spite of all, as I had been on my 
first enlisting in Ireland. At least, thought I, if I am degraded to 
be a private soldier, there will be no one of my acquaintance 
who will witness my shame ; and that is the point which I have 
always cared for most. There will be no one to say, “There is 
young Redmond Barry, the descendant of the Barrys, the fashionable 
young blood of Dublin, pipeclaying his belt and carrying his Brown 
Bess.” Indeed, but for that opinion of the world, with which it is 


IN THE CRIMP WAGGON 


75 


necessary that every man of spirit should keep upon equal tenns, I, 
for my part, would have always been contented with the humblest 
portion. Now here, to all intents and purposes, one was as far 
removed from the world as in the wilds of Siberia, or in Robinson 
Crusoe’s island. And I reasoned with myself thus: “Now you 
are caught, there is no use in repining : make the best of your 
situation, and get all the pleasure you can out of it. There are a 
thousand opportunities of plunder, &c., offered to the soldier in 
war-time, out of which he can get both pleasure and profit : make 
use of these, and be happy. Besides, you are extraordinarily brave, 
handsome, and clever : and who knows but you may procure 
advancement in your new service 1 ” 

In this philosophical way I looked at my misfortunes, determin- 
ing not to be cast down by them ; and bore my woes and my broken 
head with perfect magnanimity. The latter was, for the moment, 
an evil against which it required no small powers of endurance to 
contend ; for the jolts of the waggon were dreadful, and every shake 
caused a throb in my brain which I thought would have split my 
skull. As the morning dawned, I saw that the man next me, a 
gaunt yellow-haired creature, in black, had a cushion of straw under 
his head. 

“Are you wounded, comrade?” said I. 

“ Praised be the Lord,” said he, “I am sore hurt in spirit and 
body, and bruised in many members ; wounded, however, am I not. 
And you, poor youth ? ” 

“I am wounded in the head,” said I, “ and I want your pillow : 
give it me — I’ve a clasp-knife in my pocket ! ” and with this I gave 
him a terrible look, meaning to say (and mean it I did, for look you, 
a la guerre c’est a, la guerre , and I am none of your milksops) that, 
unless he yielded me the accommodation, I would give him a taste 
of my steel. 

“I would give it thee without any threat, friend,” said the 
yellow-haired man meekly, and handed me over his little sack of 
straw. 

He then leaned himself back as comfortably as he could against 
the cart, and began repeating, “Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott,” by 
which I concluded that I had got into the company of a parson. 
With the jolts of the waggon, and accidents of the journey, various 
more exclamations and movements of the passengers showed what a 
motley company we were. Every now and then a countryman 
would burst into tears ; a French voice would be heard to say “ 0 
mon Dieu ! — mon Dieu ! ” a couple more of the same nation were 
jabbering oaths and chattering incessantly ; and a certain allusion to 
his own and everybody else’s eyes, which came from a stalwart figure 


76 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

at the far corner, told me that there was certainly an Englishman in 
our crew. 

But I was spared soon the tedium and discomforts of the journey. 
In spite of the clergyman’s cushion, my head, which was throbbing 
with pain, was brought abruptly in contact with the side of the 
waggon ; it began to bleed afresh ; I became almost light-headed. 
I only recollect having a draught of water here and there : once 
stopping at a fortified town, where an officer counted us : — all the 
rest of the journey was passed in a drowsy stupor, from which, when 
I awoke, I found myself lying in a hospital bed, with a nun in a 
white hood watching over me. 

“ They are in sad spiritual darkness,” said a voice from the bed 
next to me, when the nun had finished her kind offices and retired : 
“ they are in the night of error, and yet there is the light of faith in 
those poor creatures.” 

It was my comrade of the crimp-waggon, his huge broad face 
looming out from under a white nightcap, and ensconced in the bed 
beside. 

“What ! you there, Herr Pastor?” said I. 

“ Only a candidate, sir,” answered the white nightcap. “ But, 
praised be Heaven ! you have come to. You have had a wild time 
of it. You have been talking in the English language (with which 
I am acquainted) of Ireland, and a young lady, and Mick, and of 
another young lady, and of a house on fire, and of the British 
Grenadiers, concerning whom you sung us parts of a ballad, and 
of a number of other matters appertaining, no doubt, to your per- 
sonal history.” 

“ It has been a very strange one,” said I ; “ and, perhaps, there 
is no man in the world, of my birth, whose misfortunes can at all be 
compared to mine.” 

I do not object to own that I am disposed to brag of my birth 
and other acquirements; for I have always found that if a man 
does not give himself a good word, his friends will not do it for 
him. 

“Well,” said my fellow-patient, “I have no doubt yours is a 
strange tale, and shall be glad to hear it anon ; but at present you 
must not be permitted to speak much, for your fever has been long, 
and your exhaustion great.” 

“Where are we?” I asked ; and the candidate informed me that 
we were in the bishopric and town of Fulda, at present occupied by 
Prince Henry’s troops. There had been a skirmish with an out-party 
of French near the town, in which a shot entering the waggon, the 
poor candidate had been wounded. 

As the reader knows already my history, I will not take the 


IN A MILITARY HOSPITAL 77 

trouble to repeat it here, or to give the additions with which I 
favoured my comrade in misfortune. But I confess that I told him 
ours was the greatest family and finest palace in Ireland, that we 
were enormously wealthy, related to all the peerage, descended from 
the ancient kings, &c. ; and, to my surprise, in the course of our 
conversation, I found that my interlocutor knew a great deal more 
about Ireland than I did. When, for instance, I spoke of my 
descent — 

“ From which race of kings 1 ” said he. 

“ Oh ! ” said I (for my memory for dates was never very 
accurate), “ from the old ancient kings of all.” 

“ What ! can you trace your origin to the sons of Japliet 1 ” 
said he. 

“’Faith, I can,” answered I, “and farther too, — to Nebuchad- 
nezzar, if you like.” 

“ I see,” said the candidate, smiling, “ that you look upon those 
legends with incredulity. These Partholans and Nemedians, of 
whom your writers fondly make mention, cannot be authentically 
vouched for in history. Nor do I believe that we have any more 
foundation for the tales concerning them, than for the legends 
relative to Joseph of Arimathea and King Brute, which prevailed 
two centuries back in the sister island.” 

And then he began a discourse about the Phoenicians, the Scyths 
or Goths, the Tuath de Danans, Tacitus, and King MacNeil ; which 
was, to say the truth, the very first news I had heard of those 
personages. As for English, he spoke it as well as I, and had 
seven more languages, he said, equally at his command; for, on 
my quoting the only Latin line that I knew, that out of the -poet 
Homer, which says — ■ 

“ As in prcesenti perfectum fumat in avi,” 

he began to speak to me in the Roman tongue ; on which I was 
fain to tell him that we pronounced it in a different way in Ireland, 
and so got off the conversation. 

My honest friend’s history was a curious one, and it may be 
told here in order to show of what motley materials our levies were 
composed : — 

“I am,” said he, “a Saxon by birth, my father being pastor of 
the village of Pfannkuchen, where I imbibed the first rudiments of 
knowledge. At sixteen (I am now twenty-three), having mastered 
the Greek and Latin tongues, with the French, English, Arabic, 
and Hebrew; and, having come into possession of a legacy of a 
hundred rixdalers, a sum amply sufficient to defray my University 
courses, I went to the famous academy of Gottingen, where I 


78 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

devoted four years to the exact sciences and theology. Also, I learned 
what worldly accomplishments I could command ; taking a dancing- 
tutor at the expense of a groschen a lesson, a course of fencing from 
a French practitioner, and attending lectures on the great horse and 
the equestrian science at the hippodrome of a celebrated cavalry 
professor. My opinion is, that a man should know everything as 
far as in his power lies : that he should complete his cycle of 
experience; and, one science being as necessary as another, it 
behoves him, according to his means, to acquaint himself with all. 
For many branches of personal knowledge (as distinguished from 
spiritual ; though I am not prepared to say that the distinction is 
a correct one), I confess I have found myself inapt. I attempted 
tight-rope dancing, with a Bohemian artist who appeared at our 
academy; but in this I failed lamentably, breaking my nose in 
the fall which I had. I also essayed to drive a coach-and-four, 
which an English student, Herr Graf Lord von Martingale, drove 
at the University. In this, too, I failed ; oversetting the chariot 
at the postern, opposite the Berliner gate, with his Lordship’s friend, 
Fraulein Miss Kitty Coddlins within. I had been instructing the 
young lord in the German language when the above accident took 
place, and was dismissed by him in consequence. My means did 
not permit me further to pursue this curriculum (you will pardon 
me the joke), otherwise, I have no doubt, I should have been able 
to take a place in any hippodrome in the world, and to handle the 
ribbands (as the high-well-bom lord used to say) to perfection. 

“At the University I delivered a thesis on the quadrature of 
the circle, which, I think, would interest you ; and held a disputa- 
tion in Arabic against Professor Strumpff, in which I was said to 
have the advantage. The languages of Southern Europe, of course, 
I acquired ; and, to a person well grounded in Sanscrit, the Northern 
idioms offer no difficulty. If you have ever attempted the Russian 
you will find it child’s play; and it will always be a source of 
regret to me that I have been enabled to get no knowledge (to 
speak of) of Chinese ; and, but for the present dilemma, I had 
intended to pass over into England for that purpose, and get a 
passage in one of the English company’s ships to Canton. 

“ I am not of a saving turn, hence my little fortune of a hun- 
dred rixdalers, which has served to keep many a prudent man for 
a score of years, barely sufficed for five years’ studies ; after which 
my studies were interrupted, my pupils fell off, and I was obliged 
to devote much time to shoe-binding in order to save money, and, 
at a future period, resume my academic course. During this period 
I contracted an attachment” (here the candidate sighed a little) 
“ with a person, who, though not beautiful, and forty years of age, 


THE CANDIDATE’S HISTORY 


79 

is yet likely to sympathise with my existence ; and, a month since, 
my kind friend and patron, University Prorector Doctor Nasen- 
brumm, having informed me that the Pfarrer of Rumpelwitz was 
dead, asked whether I would like to have my name placed upon the 
candidate list, and if I were minded to preach a trial sermon ? As 
the gaining of this living would further my union with my Amalia, 
I joyously consented, and prepared a discourse. 

“If you like I will recite it to you — No ? — Well, I will give 
you extracts from it upon our line of march. To proceed, then, 
with my biographical sketch, which is now very near a conclusion ; 
or, as I should more correctly say, which has very nearly brought 
me to the present period of time : I preached that sermon at 
Rumpelwitz, iu which I hope that the Babylonian question was 
pretty satisfactorily set at rest. I preached it before the Herr 
Baron and his noble family, and some officers of distinction who 
were staying at his castle. Mr. Doctor Moser of Halle followed me 
in the evening discourse ; but, though his exercise was learned, and 
he disposed of a passage of Ignatius, which he proved to be a mani- 
fest interpolation, I do not think his sermon had the effect which 
mine produced, and that the Rumpelwitzers much relished it. 
After the sermon, all the candidates walked out of church together, 
and supped lovingly at the ‘ Blue Stag ’ in Rumpelwitz. 

“While so occupied, a waiter came in and said that a person 
without wished to speak to one of the reverend candidates, £ the tall 
one.’ This could only mean me, for I was a head and shoulders 
higher than any other reverend gentleman present. I issued out to 
see *who was the person desiring to hold converse with me, and 
found a man whom I had no difficulty in recognising as one of the 
Jewish persuasion. 

“ ‘ Sir,’ said this Hebrew, ‘ I have heard from a friend, who was 
in your church to-day, the heads of the admirable discourse you 
pronounced there. It has affected me deeply, most deeply. There 
are only one or two points on which I am yet in doubt, and 
if your honour could but condescend to enlighten me on these, 
I think — I think Solomon Hirsch would be a convert to your 
eloquence.’ 

“‘What are these points, my good friend?’ said I ; and I 
pointed out to him the twenty-four heads of my sermon, asking him 
in which of these his doubts lay. 

“We had been walking up and down before the inn while our 
conversation took place, but the windows being open, and my com- 
rades having heard the discourse in the morning, requested me, 
rather peevishly, not to resume it at that period. I, therefore, 
moved on with my disciple, and, at his request, began at once the 


80 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

sermon ; for my memory is good for anything, and I can repeat any 
book I have read thrice. 

“ I poured out, then, under the trees, and in the calm moonlight, 
that discourse which I had pronounced under the blazing sun of 
noon My Israelite only interrupted me by exclamations indicative 
of surprise, assent, admiration, and increasing conviction. ‘Pro- 
digious!’ said he; — ‘ Wunderschon ! ’ would he remark at the 
conclusion of some eloquent passage ; in a word, he exhausted the 
complimentary interjections of our language : and to compliments 
what man is averse? I think we must have walked two miles 
when I got to my third head and my companion begged I would 
enter his house, which we now neared, and partake of a glass of 
beer ; to which I was never averse. 

“ That house, sir, was the inn at which you, too, if I judge 
aright, were taken. No sooner was I in the place, than three 
crimps rushed upon me, told me I was a deserter, and their prisoner, 
and called upon me to deliver up my money and papers ; which I 
did with a solemn protest as to my sacred character. They con- 
sisted of my sermon in MS., Prorector Nasenbrumm’s recommenda- 
tory letter, proviug my identity, and three groschen four pfennigs in 
bullion. I had already been in the cart twenty hours when you 
reached the house. The French officer, who lay opposite you (he 
who screamed when you trod on his foot, for he was wounded), was 
brought in shortly before your arrival. He had been taken with 
his epaulets and regimentals, and declared his quality and rank; 
but he was alone (I believe it was some affair of love with a Hessian 
lady which caused him to be unattended) ; and as the persons into 
whose hands he fell will make more profit of him as a recruit than 
as a prisoner, he is made to share our fate. He is not the first by 
many scores so captured. One of M. de Soubise’s cooks, and three 
actors out of a troop in the French camp, several deserters from 
your English troops (the men are led away by being told that there 
is no flogging in the Prussian service), and three Dutchmen were 
taken besides.” 

“And you,” said I — “you who were just on the point of getting 
a valuable living, — you who have so much learning, are you not 
indignant at the outrage ? ” 

“I am a Saxon,” said the candidate, “ and there is no use in 
indignation. Our government is crushed under Frederick’s heel these 
five years, and I might as well hope for mercy from the Grand 
Mogul. Nor am I, in truth, discontented with my lot ; I have lived 
on a penny bread for so many years, that a soldier’s rations will be 
a luxury to me. I do not care about more or less blows of a cane ; 
all such evils are passing, and therefore endurable. I will never, 


PATIENT RESIGNATION 81 

God willing, slay a man in combat; but I am not unanxious to 
experience on myself the effect of the war-passion, which has had so 
great an influence on the human race. It was for the same reason 
that I determined to marry Amalia, for a man is not a complete 
Mensch until he is the father of a family ; to be which is a condition 
of his existence, and therefore a duty of his education. Amalia must 
wait ; she is out of the reach of want, being, indeed, cook to the 
Frau Prorectorinn Nasenbrumm, my worthy patron’s lady. I have 
one or two books with me, which no one is likely to take from me, 
and one in my heart which is the best of all. If it shall please 
Heaven to finish my existence here, before I can prosecute my studies 
further, what cause have I to repine ? I pray God I may not be 
mistaken, but I think I have wronged no man, and committed no 
mortal sin. If I have, I know where to look for forgiveness ; and 
if I die, as I have said, without knowing all that I would desire to 
learn, shall I not be in a situation to learn everything, and what can 
human soul ask for more % 

“ Pardon me for putting so many Fs in my discourse,” said the 
candidate, “ but when a man is talking of himself, ’tis the briefest 
and simplest way of talking.” 

In which, perhaps, though I hate egotism, I think my friend was 
right. Although he acknowledged himself to be a mean-spirited 
fellow, with no more ambition than to know the contents of a few 
musty books, I think the man had some good in him ; especially in 
the resolution with which he bore his calamities. Many a gallant 
man of the highest honour is often not proof against these, and has 
been known to despair over a bad dinner, or to be cast down at a 
ragged-elbowed coat. My maxim is to bear all, to put up with water 
if you cannot get burgundy, and if you have no velvet to be content 
with frieze. But burgundy and velvet are the best, bien entendu , 
and the man is a fool who will not seize the best when the scramble 
is open. 

The heads of the sermon which my friend the theologian intended 
to impart to me, were, however, never told; for, after our coming 
out of the hospital, he was drafted into a regiment quartered as far as 
possible from his native country, in Pomerania : while I was put into 
the Biilow regiment, of which the ordinary headquarters were Berlin. 
The Prussian regiments seldom change their garrisons as ours do, for 
the fear of desertion is so great, that it becomes necessary to know 
the face of every individual in the service ; and, in time of peace, 
men live and die in the same town. This does not add, as may be 
imagined, to the amusements of the soldier’s life. It is lest any 
young gentleman like myself should take a fancy to a military career, 
and fancy that of a private soldier a tolerable one, that I am giving 


82 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

these, I hope, moral descriptions of what we poor fellows in the ranks 
really suffered. 

As soon as we recovered, we were dismissed from the nuns and 
the hospital to the town prison of Fulda, where we were kept like 
slaves and criminals, with artillerymen with lighted matches at the 
doors of the courtyards and the huge black dormitory where some 
hundreds of us lay ; until we were despatched to our different desti- 
nations. It was soon seen by the exercise which were the old soldiers 
amongst us, and which the recruits ; and for the former, while we 
lay in prison, there was a little more leisure : though, if possible, a 
still more strict watch kept than over the broken-spirited yokels who 
had been forced or coaxed into the service. To describe the characters 
here assembled would require Mr. Gilray’s own pencil. There were 
men of all nations and callings. The Englishmen boxed and bullied ; 
the Frenchmen played cards, and danced, and fenced; the heavy 
Germans smoked their pipes and drank beer, if they could manage 
to purchase it. Those who had anything to risk gambled, and at 
this sport I was pretty lucky, for, not having a penny when I entered 
the depot (having been robbed of every farthing of my property by 
the rascally crimps), I won near a dollar in my very first game at 
cards with one of the Frenchmen ; who did not think of asking 
whether I could pay or not upon losing. Such, at least, is the 
advantage of having a gentlemanlike appearance ; it has saved me 
many a time since by procuring me credit when my fortunes were at 
their lowest ebb. 

Among the Frenchmen there was a splendid man and soldier, 
whose real name we never knew, but whose ultimate history created 
no small sensation, when it came to be known in the Prussian army. 
If beauty and courage are proofs of nobility, as (although I have 
seen some of the ugliest dogs and the greatest cowards in the world 
in the noblesse) I have no doubt courage and beauty are, this 
Frenchman must have been of the highest families in France, so 
grand and noble was his manner, so superb his person. He w T as 
not quite so tall as myself, fair, while I am dark, and, if possible, 
rather broader in the shoulders. He was the only man I ever met 
who could master me with the small-sword ; with which he would 
pink me four times to my three. As for the sabre, I could knock 
him to pieces with it ; and I could leap farther and carry more than 
he could. This, however, is mere egotism. This Frenchman, with 
whom I became pretty intimate — for we were the two cocks, as it 
were, of the depot, and neither had any feeling of low jealousy — 
was called, for want of a better name, Le Blondin, on account of 
his complexion. He was not a deserter, but had come in from the 
Lower Rhine and the bishoprics, as I fancy ; fortune having proved 


83 


LE BLONDIN’S CONSPIRACY 

unfavourable to him at play probably, and other means of existence 
being denied him. I suspect that the Bastile was waiting for him 
in his own country, had he taken a fancy to return thither. 

He was passionately fond of play and liquor, and thus we had a 
considerable sympathy together : when excited by one or the other, 
he became frightful. I, for my part, can bear, without wincing, 
both ill luck and wine ; hence my advantage over him was con- 
siderable in our bouts, and I won enough money from him to make 
my position tenable. He had a wife outside (who, I take it, was 
the cause of his misfortunes and separation from his family), and 
she used to be admitted to see him twice or thrice a week, and 
never came empty-handed — a little brown bright-eyed creature, 
whose ogles had made the greatest impression upon all the world 

This man was drafted into a regiment that was quartered at 
Neiss in Silesia, which is only at a short distance from the Austrian 
frontier ; he maintained always the same character for daring and 
skill, and was, in the secret republic of the regiment — which always 
exists, as well as the regular military hierarchy — the acknowledged 
leader. He was an admirable soldier, as I have said ; but haughty, 
dissolute, and a drunkard. A man of this mark, unless he takes 
care to coax and flatter his officers (which I always did), is sure 
to fall out with them. Le Blondin’s captain was his sworn enemy, 
and his punishments were frequent and severe. 

His wife and the women of the regiment (this was after the 
peace) used to carry on a little commerce of smuggling across the 
Austrian frontier, where their dealings were winked at by both 
parties ; and in obedience to the instructions of her husband, this 
woman, from every one of her excursions, would bring in a little 
powder and ball : commodities which are not to be procured by the 
Prussian soldier, and which were stowed away in secret till wanted. 
They were to be wanted, and that soon. 

Le Blondin had organised a great and extraordinary conspiracy. 
We don’t know how far it went, how many hundreds or thousands 
it embraced; but strange were the stories told about the plot 
amongst us privates : for the news was spread from garrison to 
garrison, and talked of by the army, in spite of all the Government 
efforts to hush it up — hush it up, indeed ! I have been of the 
people myself; I have seen the Irish rebellion, and I know what is 
the freemasonry of the poor. 

He made himself the head of the plot. There were no writings 
nor papers. No single one of the conspirators communicated with 
any other than the Frenchman ; but personally he gave his orders 
to them all. He had arranged matters for a general rising of the 
garrison, at twelve o’clock on a certain day : the guard-houses in 


84 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

the town were to be seized, the sentinels cut down, and — who knows 
the rest f Some of our people used to say that the conspiracy was 
spread through all Silesia, and that Le Blondin was to be made a 
general in the Austrian service. 

At twelve o’clock, and opposite the guard-house by the Bohmer- 
Thor of Neiss, some thirty men were lounging about in their undress, 
and the Frenchman stood near the sentinel of the guard-house, 
sharpening a wood hatchet on a stone. At the stroke of twelve, he 
got up, split open the sentinel’s head with a blow of his axe, and 
the thirty men, rushing into the guard-house, took possession of the 
arms there, and marched at once to the gate. The sentry there 
tried to drop the bar, but the Frenchman rushed up to him, and, 
with another blow of the axe, cut off his right hand with which he 
held the chain. Seeing the men rushing out armed, the guard 
without the gate drew up across the road to prevent their passage ; 
but the Frenchman’s thirty gave them a volley, charged them with 
the bayonet, and brought down several, and the rest flying, the 
thirty rushed on. The frontier is only a league from Neiss, and 
they made rapidly towards it. 

But the alarm was given in the town, and what saved it was 
that the clock by which the Frenchman went was a quarter of an 
hour faster than any of the clocks in the town. The gdn^rale was 
beat, the troops called to arms, and thus the men who were to have 
attacked the other guard-houses were obliged to fall into the ranks, 
and their project was defeated. This, however, likewise rendered 
the discovery of the conspirators impossible, for no man could betray 
his comrade, nor, of course, would he criminate himself. 

Cavalry was sent in pursuit of the Frenchman and his thirty 
fugitives, who were, by this time, far on their way to the Bohemian 
frontier. When the horse came up with them, they turned, received 
them with a volley and the bayonet, and drove them back. The 
Austrians were out at the barriers, looking eagerly on at the conflict. 
The women, who were on the look-out too, brought more ammunition 
to these intrepid deserters, and they engaged and drove back the 
dragoons several times. But in these gallant and fruitless combats 
much time was lost, and a battalion presently came up, and sur- 
rounded the brave thirty; when the fate of the poor fellows was 
decided. They fought with the fury of despair : not one of them 
asked for quarter. When their ammunition failed, they fought with 
the steel, and were shot down or bayoneted where they stood. The 
Frenchman was the very last man who was hit. He received a 
bullet in the thigh, and fell, and in this state was overpowered, 
killing the officer who first advanced to seize him. 

He and the very few of his comrades who survived were carried 


85 


END OF LE BLONDIN 

back to Neiss, and immediately, as the ringleader, he was brought 
before a council of war. He refused all interrogations which were 
made as to his real name and family. “ What matters who I am ? ” 
said he ; “ you have me and will shoot me. My name would not 
save me were it ever so famous.” In the same way he declined to 
make a single discovery regarding the plot. “ It was all my doing,” 
he said ; “ each man engaged in it only knew me, and is ignorant of 
every one of his comrades. The secret is mine alone, and the secret 
shall die with me.” When the officers asked him what was the 
reason which induced him to meditate a crime so horrible? “It 
was your infernal brutality and tyranny,” he said. “ You are all 
butchers, ruffians, tigers, and you owe it to the cowardice of your 
men that you were not murdered long ago.” 

At this his captain burst into the most furious exclamations 
against the wounded man, and rushing up to him, struck him a blow 
with his fist. But Le Blondin, wounded as he was, as quick as 
thought seized the bayonet of one of the soldiers who supported 
him, and plunged it into the officer’s breast. “Scoundrel and 
monster,” said he, “I shall have the consolation of sending you out 
of the world before I die.” He was shot that day. He offered to 
write to the King, if the officers would agree to let his letter go 
sealed into the hands of the postmaster ; but they feared, no doubt, 
that something might be said to inculpate themselves, and refused 
him the permission. At the next review Frederick treated them, it 
is said, with great severity, and rebuked them for not having granted 
the Frenchman his request. However, it was the King’s interest to 
conceal the matter, and so it was, as I have said before, hushed 
up — so well hushed up, that a hundred thousand soldiers in the 
army knew it; and many’s the one of us that has drunk to the 
Frenchman’s memory over our wine, as a martyr for the cause of 
the soldier. I shall have, doubtless, some readers who will cry out 
at this, that I am encouraging insubordination and advocating 
murder. If these men had served as privates in the Prussian army 
from 1760 to 1765, they would not be so apt to take objection. 
This man destroyed two sentinels to get his liberty; how many 
hundreds of thousands of his own and the Austrian people did King 
Frederick kill because he took a fancy to Silesia? It was the 
accursed tyranny of the system that sharpened the axe which 
brained the two sentinels of Neiss : and so let officers take warning, 
and think twice ere they visit poor fellows with the cane. 

I could tell many more stories about the army ; but as, from 
having been a soldier myself, all my sympathies are in the ranks, 
no doubt my tales would be pronounced to be of an immoral 
tendency, and I had best, therefore, be brief. Fancy my surprise 


86 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

while in this depot, when one day a well-known voice saluted my 
ear, and I heard a meagre young gentleman, who was brought in by 
a couple of troopers and received a few cuts across the shoulders 
from one of them, say in the best English, “You infernal wascal, 
I’ll be revenged for this. I’ll wite to my ambassador, as sure as 
my name’s Fakenham of Fakenham.” I burst out laughing at this : 
it was my old acquaintance in my corporal’s coat. Lischen had 
sworn stoutly that he was really and truly the private, and the poor 
fellow had been drafted off, and was to be made one of us. But I 
bear no malice, and having made the whole room roar with the story 
of the way in which I had tricked the poor lad, I gave him a piece 
of advice, which procured him his liberty. “Go to the inspecting 
officer,” said I; “if they once get you into Prussia it is all over 
with you, and they will never give you up. Go now to the com- 
mandant of the depot, promise him a hundred — five hundred guineas 
to set you free ; say that the crimping captain has your papers and 
portfolio (this was true) ; above all, show him that you have the 
means of paying him the promised money, and I will warrant you 
are set free.” He did as I advised, and when we were put on the 
march Mr. Fakenham found means to be allowed to go into hospital, 
and while in hospital the matter was arranged as I had recom- 
mended. He had nearly, however, missed his freedom by his own 
stinginess in bargaining for it, and never showed the least gratitude 
towards me his benefactor. 

I am not going to give any romantic narrative of the Seven 
Years’ War. At the close of it, the Prussian army, so renowned 
for its disciplined valour, was officered and under-officered by native 
Prussians, it is true ; but was composed for the most part of men 
hired or stolen, like myself, from almost every nation in Europe. The 
deserting to and fro was prodigious. In my regiment (Billow’s) alone 
before the war, there had been no less than six hundred Frenchmen, 
and as they marched out of Berlin for the campaign, one of the 
fellows had an old fiddle on which he was playing a French tune, 
and his comrades danced almost, rather than walked, after him, 
singing, “Nous allons en France.” Two years after, when they 
returned to Berlin, there were only six of these men left ; the rest 
had fled or were killed in action. The life the private soldier led 
was a frightful one to any but men of iron courage and endurance. 
There was a corporal to every three men, marching behind them, 
and pitilessly using the cane ; so much so that it used to be said 
that in action there was a front rank of privates and a second rank 
of sergeants and corporals to drive them on. Many men would 
give way to the most frightful acts of despair under these incessant 
persecutions and tortures; and amongst several regiments of the 


PRUSSIAN DISCIPLINE 


87 


army a horrible practice had sprung up, which for some time caused 
the greatest alarm to the Government. This was a strange frightful 
custom of child-murder. The men used to say that life was un- 
bearable, that suicide was a crime ; in order to avert which, and to 
finish with the intolerable misery of their position, the best plan was 
to kill a young child, which was innocent, and therefore secure of 
heaven, and then to deliver themselves up as guilty of the murder. 
The King himself — the hero, sage, and philosopher, the prince who 
had always liberality on his lips, and who affected a horror of capital 
punishments — was frightened at this dreadful protest, on the part 
of the wretches whom he had kidnapped, against his monstrous 
tyranny ; but his only means of remedying the evil was strictly to 
forbid that such criminals should be attended by any ecclesiastic 
whatever, and denied all religious consolation. 

The punishment was incessant. Every officer had the liberty 
to inflict it, and in peace it was more cruel than in war. For when 
peace came the King turned adrift such of his officers as were not 
noble ; whatever their services might have been. He would call 
a captain to the front of his company and say, “He is not noble ; 
let him go.” We were afraid of him somehow, and were cowed 
before him like wild beasts before their keeper. I have seen the 
bravest men of the army cry like children at a cut of the cane ; I 
have seen a little ensign of fifteen call out a man of fifty from the 
ranks, a man who had been in a hundred battles, and he has stood 
presenting arms, and sobbing and howling like a baby, while the 
young wretch lashed him over the arms and thighs with the stick. 
In a day of action this man would dare anything. A button might 
be awry then and nobody touched him ; but when they had made 
the brute fight, then they lashed him again into subordination. 
Almost all of us yielded to the spell — scarce one could break it. 
The French officer I have spoken of as taken along with me, was in 
my company, and caned like., a dog. I met him at Versailles twenty 
years afterwards, and he turned quite pale and sick when I spoke 
to him of old days. “ For God’s sake,” said he, “don’t talk of that 
time : I wake up from my sleep trembling and crying even now.” 

As for me, after a very brief time (in which it must be con- 
fessed I tasted, like my comrades, of the cane), and after I had found 
opportunities to show myself to be a brave and dexterous soldier, I 
took the means I had adopted in the English army to prevent any 
further personal degradation. I wore a bullet around my neck, 
which I did not take the pains to conceal, and I gave out that it 
should be for the man or officer who caused me to be chastised. 
And there was something in my character which made my superiors 
believe me ; for that bullet had already served me to kill an Austrian 


83 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

colonel, and I would have given it to a Prussian with as little 
remorse. For what cared I for their quarrels, or whether the eagle 
under which I marched had one head or two 1 All I said was, “No 
man shall find me tripping in my duty ; but no man shall ever lay 
a hand upon me.” And by this maxim I abided as long as I 
remained in the service. 

I do not intend to make a history of battles in the Prussian any 
more than in the English service. I did my duty in them as well 
as another, and by the time that my moustache had grown to a 
decent length, which it did when I was twenty years of age, there 
was not a braver, cleverer, handsomer, and I must own, wickeder 
soldier in the Prussian army. I had formed myself to the condition 
of the proper fighting beast ; on a day of action I was savage and 
happy ; out of the field I took all the pleasure I could get, and was 
by no means delicate as to its quality or the manner of procuring it. 
The truth is, however, that there was among our men a much 
higher tone of society than among the clumsy louts in the English 
army, and our service was generally so strict that we had little time 
for doing mischief. I am very dark and swarthy in complexion, and 
was called by our fellows the “ Black Englander,” the “ Schwartzer 
Englander,” or the English Devil. If any service was to be done, 
I was sure to be put upon it. I got frequent gratifications of 
money, but no promotion ; and it was on the day after I had killed 
the Austrian colonel (a great officer of Uhlans, whom I engaged 
singly and on foot) that General Billow, my colonel, gave me two 
Frederics-d’or in front of the regiment, and said, “ I reward thee 
now ; but I fear I shall have to hang thee one day or other.” I 
spent the money, and that I had taken from the colonel’s body, 
every groschen, that night with some jovial companions; but as 
long as war lasted was never without a dollar in my purse. 


CHAPTER VII 


BARRY LEADS A GARRISON LIFE, AND FINDS MANY 
FRIENDS THERE 

TER the war, our regiment was garrisoned in the capital, the 



least dull, perhaps, of all the towns of Prussia : but that 


* * does not say much for its gaiety. Our service, which was 

always severe, still left many hours of the day disengaged, in which 
we might take our pleasure had we the means of paying for the 
same. Many of our mess got leave to work in trades ; but I had 
been brought up to none : and besides my honour forbade me ; for 
as a gentleman, I could not soil my fingers by a manual occupation. 
But our pay was barely enough to keep us from starving ; and as 
I have always been fond of pleasure, and as the position in which 
we now were, in the midst of the capital, prevented us from resort- 
ing to those means of levying contributions which are always pretty 
feasible in war-time, I was obliged to adopt the only means left me 
of providing for my expenses : and in a word became the Ordoiinanz, 
or confidential military gentleman, of my captain. I spurned the 
office four years previously, when it was made to me in the English 
service; but the position is very different in a foreign country; 
besides, to tell the truth, after five years in the ranks, a man's 
pride will submit to many rebuffs which would be intolerable to 
him in an independent condition. 

The Captain was a young man and had distinguished himself 
during the war, or he would never have been advanced to rank so 
early. He was, moreover, the nephew and heir of the Minister of 
Police, Monsieur de Potzdorff, a relationship which no doubt aided 
in the young gentleman’s promotion. Captain de Potzdorff was a 
severe officer enough on parade or in barracks, but he was a person 
easily led by flattery. I won his heart in the first place by my 
manner of tying my hair in queue (indeed it was more neatly dressed 
than that of any man in the regiment), and subsequently gained 
his confidence by a thousand little arts and compliments, which as 
a gentleman myself I knew how to employ. He was a man of 
pleasure, which he pursued more openly than most men in the 
stern Court of the King ; he was generous and careless with his 


90 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

purse, and he had a great affection for Rhine wine : in all which 
qualities I sincerely sympathised with him ; and from which I, of 
course, had my profit. He was disliked in the regiment, because 
he was supposed to have too intimate relations with his uncle the 
Police Minister; to whom, it was hinted, he carried the news of 
the corps. 

Before long I had ingratiated myself considerably with my 
officer, and knew most of his affairs. Thus I was relieved from 
many drills and parades, which would otherwise have fallen to my 
lot, and came in for a number of perquisites; which enabled me 
to support a genteel figure and to appear with some eclat in a 
certain, though it must be confessed very humble, society in Berlin. 
Among the ladies I was always an especial favourite, and so polished 
was my behaviour amongst them, that they could not understand 
how I should have obtained my frightful nickname of the Black 
Devil in the regiment. “He is not so black as he is painted,” I 
laughingly would say ; and most of the ladies agreed that the private 
was quite as well bred as the captain : as indeed how should it be 
otherwise, considering my education and birth ? 

When I was sufficiently ingratiated with him, I asked leave to 
address a letter to my poor mother in Ireland, to whom I had not 
given any news of myself for many many years ; for the letters of 
the foreign soldiers were never admitted to the post, for fear of 
appeals or disturbances on the part of their parents abroad. My 
captain agreed to find means to forward the letter, and as I knew 
that he would open it, I took care to give it him unsealed ; thus 
showing my confidence in him. But the letter was, as you may 
imagine, written so that the writer should come to no harm were 
it intercepted. I begged my honoured mother’s forgiveness for 
having fled from her; I said that my extravagance and folly in 
my own country I knew rendered my return thither impossible; 
but that she would, at least, be glad to know that I was well and 
happy in the service of the greatest monarch in the world, and 
that the soldier’s life was most agreeable to me : and, I added, 
that I had found a kind protector and patron, who I hoped would 
some day provide for me as I knew it was out of her power to do. 
I offered remembrances to all the girls at Castle Brady, naming 
them from Biddy to Becky downwards, and signed myself, as in 
truth I was, her affectionate son, Redmond Barry, in Captain 
Potzdorffs company of the Biilowisch regiment of foot in garrison 
at Berlin. Also I told her a pleasant story about the King kick- 
ing the Chancellor and three judges downstairs, as he had done 
one day when I was on guard at Potsdam, and said I hoped for 
another war soon, when I might rise to be an officer. In fact, you 


IN FAVOUR WITH MY PATRON 


91 


might have imagined my letter to be that of the happiest fellow 
in the world, and I was not on this head at all sorry to mislead 
my kind parent. 

I was sure my letter was read, for Captain Potzdorff began 
asking me some days afterwards about my family, and I told him 
the circumstances pretty truly, all things considered. I was a cadet 
of a good family, but my mother was almost ruined and had barely 
enough to support her eight daughters, whom I named. I had been 
to study for the law at Dublin, where I had got into debt and bad 
company, had killed a man in a duel, and would be hanged or im- 
prisoned by his powerful friends if I returned. I had enlisted in 
the English service, where an opportunity for escape presented itself 
to me such as I could not resist ; and hereupon I told the story of 
Mr. Fakenhain of Fakenham in such a way as made my patron to 
be convulsed with laughter, and he told me afterwards that he had 
repeated the story at Madame de Kameke’s evening assembly, where 
all the world was anxious to have a sight of the young Englander. 

“Was the British Ambassador there 1” I asked, in a tone of 
the greatest alarm, and added, “For Heaven’s sake, sir, do not tell 
my name to him, or he might ask to have me delivered up : and I 
have no fancy to go to be hanged in my dear native country.” Potz- 
dorff, laughing, said he would take care that I should remain where 
I was, on which I swore eternal gratitude to him. 

Some days afterwards, and with rather a grave face, lie said to 
me, “ Redmond, I have been talking to our colonel about you, and 
as I wondered that a fellow of your courage and talents had not 
been advanced during the war, the general said they had had their 
eye upon you ; that you were a gallant soldier, and had evidently 
come of a good stock ; that no man in the regiment had had less fault 
found with him ; but that no man merited promotion less. , You 
were idle, dissolute, and unprincipled ; you had done a deal of harm 
to the men; and, for all your talents and bravery, he was sure 
would come to no good.” 

“ Sir ! ” said I, quite astonished that any mortal man should 
have formed such an opinion of me, “I hope General Biilow is 
mistaken regarding my character. I have fallen into bad company, 
it is true ; but I have only done as other soldiers have done ; and, 
above all, I have never had a kind friend and protector before, to 
whom I might show that I was worthy of better things. The 
general may say I am a ruined lad, and send me to the d — 1 ; but 
be sure of this, I would go to the d — 1 to serve you” This speech I 
saw pleased my patron very much ; and, as I was very discreet and 
useful in a thousand delicate ways to him, he soon came to have 
a sincere attachment for me. One day, or rather night, when he 


92 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

was tete-a-tete with the lady of the Tabaks Rath von Dose for 

instance, I but there is no use in telling affairs which concern 

nobody now. 

Four months after my letter to my mother, I got, under cover 
to the Captain, a reply, which created in my mind a yearning after 
home, and a melancholy which I cannot describe. I had not seen 
the dear soul’s writing for five years. All the old days, and the 
fresh happy sunshine of the old green fields in Ireland, and her love, 
and my uncle, and Phil Purcell, and everything that I had done 
and thought, came back to me as I read the letter ; and when I 
was alone I cried over it, as I hadn’t done since the day when 
Nora jilted me. I took care not to show my feelings to the regi- 
ment or my captain : but that night, when I was to have taken tea 
at the Garden-house outside Brandenburg Gate, with Fraulein 
Lottchen (the Tabaks Rathinn’s gentlewoman of company), I some- 
how had not the courage to go ; but begged to be excused, and went 
early to bed in barracks, out of which I went and came now almost 
as I willed, and passed a long night weeping and thinking about 
dear Ireland. 

Next day, my spirits rose again, and I got a ten-guinea bill 
cashed, which my mother sent in the letter, and gave a handsome 
treat to some of my acquaintance. The poor soul’s letter was 
blotted all over with tears, full of texts, and written in the wildest 
incoherent -way. She said she was delighted to think I was under 
a Protestant prince, though she feared he was not in the right way : 
that right way, she said, she had the blessing to find, under the 
guidance of the Reverend Joshua Jowls, whom she sat under. 

She said he was a precious chosen vessel ; a sweet ointment and 

precious box of spikenard; and made use of a great number more 
phrases that I could not understand; but one thing was clear in 
the midst of all this jargon, that the good soul loved her son still, 
and thought and prayed day and night for her wild Redmond. 

Has it not come across many a poor fellow, in a solitary night’s 

watch, or in sorrow, sickness, or captivity, that at that very minute, 
most likely, his mother is praying for him ? I often have had these 
thoughts ; but they are none of the gayest, and it’s quite as well 
that they don’t come to you in company ; for where would be a set 
of jolly fellows then? — as mute as undertakers at a funeral, I 
promise you. I drank my mother’s health that night in a bumper, 
and lived like a gentleman whilst the money lasted. She pinched 
herself to give it me, as she told me afterwards ; and Mr. Jowls was 
very wroth with her. 

Although the good soul’s money was very quickly spent, I was 
not long in getting more ; for I had a hundred ways of getting it, 


MY SECOND DUEL 


93 

and became a universal favourite with the Captain and his friends. 
Now, it was Madame von Dose who gave me a Frederic-d’or for 
bringing her a bouquet or a letter from the Captain ; now it was, on 
the contrary, the old Privy Councillor who treated me with a bottle 
of Rhenish, and slipped into my hand a dollar or two, in order that 
I might give him some information regarding the liaison between 
my Captain and his lady. But though I was not such a fool as not 
to take his money, you may be sure I was not dishonourable enough 
to betray my benefactor ; and he got very little out of me. When 
the Captain and the lady fell out, and he began to pay his addresses 
to the rich daughter of the Dutch Minister, I don’t know how many 
more letters and guineas the unfortunate Tabaks Rathinn handed 
over to me, that I might get her lover back again. But such returns 
are rare in love, and the Captain used only to laugh at her stale 
sighs and entreaties. In the house of Mynheer Van Guldensack I 
made myself so pleasant to high and low, that I came to be quite 
intimate there ; and got the knowledge of a State secret or two, 
which surprised and pleased my Captain very much. These little 
hints he carried to his uncle, the Minister of Police, who, no doubt, 
made his advantage of them ; and thus I began to be received quite 
in a confidential light by the Potzdorff family, and became a mere 
nominal soldier, being allowed to appear in plain clothes (which 
were, I warrant you, of a neat fashion), and to enjoy myself in a 
hundred ways, which the poor fellows my comrades envied. As for 
the sergeants, they were as civil to me as to an officer : it was as 
much as their stripes were worth to offend a person who had the ear 
of the Minister’s nephew. There was in my company a young fellow 
by the name of Kurz, who was six feet high in spite of his name, 
and whose life I had saved in some affair of the war. What does 
this lad do, after I had recounted to him one of my adventures, but 
call me a spy and informer, and beg me not to call him du any 
more, as is the fashion with young men when they are very inti- 
mate. I had nothing for it but to call him out ; but I owed him 
no grudge. I disarmed him in a twinkling ; and as I sent his sword 
flying over his head, said to him, “ Kurz, did ever you know a man 
guilty of a mean action who can do as I do now % ” This silenced 
the rest of the grumblers ; and no man ever sneered at me after 
that. 

No man can suppose that to a person of my fashion the waiting 
in antechambers, the conversation of footmen and hangers-on, was 
pleasant. But it was not more degrading than the barrack-room, 
of which I need not say I was heartily sick. My protestations of 
liking for the army were all intended to throw dust into the eyes of 
my employer. I sighed to be out of slavery. I knew I was born 


94> THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

to make a figure in the world. Had I been one of the Neiss 
garrison, I would have cut my way to freedom by the side of the 
gallant Frenchman ; but here I had only artifice to enable me to 
attain my end, and was not I justified in employing it 1 My plan 
was this : I may make myself so necessary to M. de Potzdorff, that 
he will obtain my freedom. Once free, with my fine person and 
good family, I will do what ten thousand Irish gentlemen have done 
before, and will marry a lady of fortune and condition. And the 
proof that I was, if not disinterested, at least actuated by a noble 
ambition, is this. There was a fat grocer’s widow in Berlin with 
six hundred thalers of rent, and a good business, who gave me to 
understand that she would purchase my discharge if I would marry 
her ; but I frankly told her that I was not made to be a grocer, 
and thus absolutely flung away a chance of freedom which she 
offered me. 

And I was grateful to my employers : more grateful than they 
to me. The Captain was in debt, and had dealings with the Jews, 
to whom he gave notes of hand payable on his uncle’s death. The 
old Herr von Potzdorff, seeing the confidence his nephew had in 
me, offered to bribe me to know what the young man’s affairs really 
were. But what did I do! I informed Monsieur George von 
Potzdorff of the fact ; and we made out, in concert, a list of little 
debts, so moderate, that they actually appeased the old uncle instead 
of irritating, and he paid them, being glad to get off so cheap. 

And a pretty return I got for this fidelity. One morning, the 
old gentleman being closeted with his nephew (he used to come to 
get any news stirring as to what the young officers of the regiment 
were doing : whether this or that gambled ; who intrigued, and with 
whom ; who was at the ridotto on such a night ; who was in debt, 
and what not ; for the King liked to know the business of every 
officer in his army), I was sent with a letter to the Marquis d’Argens 
(that afterwards married Mademoiselle Cochois the actress), and, 
meeting the Marquis at a few paces off in the street, gave my message, 
and returned to the Captain’s lodging. He and his worthy uncle 
were making my unworthy self the subject of conversation. 

“ He is noble,” said the Captain. 

“ Bah ! ” replied the uncle (whom I could have throttled for his 
insolence). “All the beggarly Irish who ever enlisted tell the 
same story.” 

“ He was kidnapped by Galgenstein,” resumed the other. 

“ A kidnapped deserter,” said M. Potzdorff ; “ la belle affaire ! ” 

“ Well, I promised the lad I would ask for his discharge ; and I 
am sure you can make him useful.” 

“ You have asked his discharge,” answered the elder, laughing. 


I OVERHEAR A CONVERSATION 95 

“ Bon Dieu ! You are a model of probity ! You’ll never succeed 
to my place, George, if you are no wiser than you are just now. 
Make the fellow as useful to you as you please. He has a good 
manner and a frank countenance. He can lie with an assurance 
that I never saw surpassed, and fight, you say, on a pinch. The 
scoundrel does not want for good qualities ; but he is vain, a spend- 
thrift, and a bavard. As long as you have the regiment in terrorem 
over him, you can do as you like with him. Once let him loose, and 
the lad is likely to give you the slip. Keep on promising him ; 
promise to make him a general, if you like. What the deuce do I 
care ? There are spies enough to be had in this town without him.” 

It was thus that the services I rendered to M. Potzdorff were 
qualified by that ungrateful old gentleman ; and I stole away from 
the room extremely troubled in spirit, to think that another of my 
fond dreams was thus dispelled ; and that my hopes of getting out 
of the army, by being useful to the Captain, were entirely vain. For 
some time my despair was such, that I thought of marrying the 
widow ; but the marriages of privates are never allowed without the 
direct permission of the King ; and it was a matter of very great 
doubt whether his Majesty would allow a young fellow of twenty- 
two, the handsomest man of his army, to be coupled to a pimple- 
faced old widow of sixty, who was quite beyond the age when her 
marriage would be likely to multiply the subjects of his Majesty. 
This hope of liberty was therefore vain ; nor could I hope to purchase 
my discharge, unless any charitable soul would lend me a large sum 
of money ; for, though I made a good deal, as I have said, yet I have 
always had through life an incorrigible knack of spending, and (such 
is my generosity of disposition) have been in debt ever since I 
was born. 

My Captain, the sly rascal ! gave me a very different version of 
his conversation with his uncle to that which I knew to be the true 
one ; and said smilingly to me, “ Redmond, I have spoken to the 
Minister regarding thy services,* and thy fortune is made. We shall 
get thee out of the army, appoint thee to the police bureau, and 

* The service about which Mr. Barry here speaks has, and we suspect 
purposely, been described by him in very dubious terms. It is most probable 
that he was employed to wait at the table of strangers in Berlin, and to bring 
to the Police Minister any news concerning them which might at all interest 
the Government. The great Frederick never received a guest without taking 
these hospitable precautions ; and as for the duels which Mr. Barry fights, 
may we be allowed to hint a doubt as to a great number of these combats ? It 
will be observed, in one or two other parts of his Memoirs, that whenever he is at 
an awkward pass, or does what the world does not usually consider respectable, 
a duel, in which ho is victorious, is sure to ensue ; from which ho argues that 
he is a man of undoubted honour. 


96 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

procure for thee an inspectorship of customs ; and, in fine, allow thee 
to move in a better sphere than that in which Fortune has hitherto 
placed thee.” 

Although I did not believe a word of this speech, I affected to 
be very much moved by it, and of course swore eternal gratitude to 
the Captain for his kindness to the poor Irish castaway. 

“ Your service at the Dutch Minister’s has pleased me very well. 
There is another occasion on which you may make yourself useful 
to us ; and if you succeed, depend on it your reward will be secure.” 

“What is the service, sir 1 ?” said I; “I will do anything for 
so kind a master.” 

“ There is lately come to Berlin,” said the Captain, “ a gentle- 
man in the service of the Empress-Queen, who calls himself the 
Chevalier de Balibari, and wears the red riband and star of the 
Pope’s order of the Spur. He speaks Italian or French indifferently ; 
but we have some reason to fancy this Monsieur de Balibari is a 
native of your country of Ireland. Did you ever hear such a name 
as Balibari in Ireland ? ” 

“ Balibari ? Balyb 1 ” A sudden thought flashed across me. 

“No, sir,” said I, “ I never heard the name.” 

“You must go into his service. Of course you will not know 
a word of English ; and if the Chevalier asks as to the particularity 
of your accent, say you are a Hungarian. The servant who came 
with him will be turned away to-day, and the person to whom he 
has applied for a faithful fellow will recommend you. You are a 
Hungarian ; you served in the Seven Years’ War. You left the 
army on account of weakness of the loins. You served Monsieur 
de Quellenberg two years ; he is now with the army in Silesia, but 
there is your certificate signed by him. You afterwards lived with 
Doctor Mopsius, who will give you a character, if need be ; and the 
landlord of the ‘ Star ’ will, of course, certify that you are an honest 
fellow: but his certificate goes for nothing. As for the rest of 
your story, you can fashion that as you will, and make it as 
romantic or as ludicrous as your fancy dictates. Try, however, 
to win the Chevalier’s confidence by provoking his compassion. 
He gambles a great deal, and wins. Do you know the cards 
well?” 

“ Only a very little, as soldiers do.” 

“ I had thought you more expert. You must find out if the 
Chevalier cheats ; if he does, we have him. He sees the English 
and Austrian envoys continually, and the young men of either 
Ministry sup repeatedly at his house. Find out what they talk 
of; for how much each plays, especially if any of them play on 
parole : if you can read his private letters, of course you will ; 


THE CHEVALIER DE BALIBARI 97 

though about those which go to the post, you need not trouble 
yourself ; we look at them there. But never see him write a note 
without finding out to whom it goes, and by what channel or 
messenger. He sleeps with the keys of his despatch-box on a string 
round his neck. Twenty Frederics, if you get an impression of 
the keys. You will, of course, go in plain clothes. You had best 
brush the powder out of your hair, and tie it with a riband simply ; 
your moustache you must of course shave off.” 

With these instructions, and a very small gratuity, the Captain 
left me. When I again saw him, he was amused at the change 
in my appearance. I had, not without a pang (for they were 
as black as jet, and curled elegantly), shaved off my moustaches ; had 
removed the odious grease and flour, which I always abominated, 
out of my hair ; had mounted a demure French grey coat, black 
satin breeches, and a maroon plush waistcoat, and a hat without 
a cockade. I looked as meek and humble as any servant out 
of place could possibly appear ; and I think not my own regiment, 
which was now at the review at Potzdam, would have known me. 
Thus accoutred, I went to the “ Star Hotel,” where this stranger 
was,- — my heart beating with anxiety, and something telling me 
that this Chevalier de Balibari was no other than Barry, of Bally- 
barry, my father’s eldest brother, who had given up his estate in 
consequence of his obstinate adherence to the Romish superstition. 
Before 1 went in to present myself, I went to look in the remises 
at his carriage. Had he the Barry arms 1 Yes, there they were : 
argent, a bend gules, with four escallops of the field, — the ancient 
coat of my house. They were painted in a shield about as big 
as my hat, on a smart chariot handsomely gilded, surmounted with 
a coronet, and supported by eight or nine cupids, cornucopias, and 
flower-baskets, according to the queer heraldic fashion of those days. 
It must be he ! I felt quite faint as I went up the stairs. I was 
going to present myself before my uncle in the character of a 
servant ! 

“You are the young man whom M. de Seebach recommended ? ” 

I bowed, and handed him a letter from that gentleman, with 
which my captain had taken care to provide me. As he looked 
at it I had leisure to examine him. My uncle was a man of sixty 
years of age, dressed superbly in a coat and breeches of apricot- 
coloured velvet, a white satin waistcoat embroidered with gold 
like the coat. Across his breast went the purple riband of his 
order of the Spur; and the star of the order, an enormous one, 
sparkled on his breast. He had rings on all his fingers, a couple 
of watches in his fobs, a rich diamond solitaire in the black riband 
round his neck, and fastened to the bag of his wig : his ruffles and 
4 Gr 


98 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

frills were decorated with a profusion of the richest lace. He had 
pink silk stockings rolled over the knee, and tied with gold garters ; 
and enormous diamond buckles to his red-heeled shoes. A sword 
mounted in gold, in a white fish-skin scabbard; and a hat richly 
iaced, and lined with white feathers, which were lying on a table 
beside him, completed the costume of this splendid gentleman. In 
height he was about my size, that is, six feet and half an inch ; his 
cast of features singularly like mine, and extremely distingue. One 
of his eyes was closed with a black patch, however; he wore a 
little white and red paint, by no means an unusual ornament in 
those days ; and a pair of moustaches, which fell over his lip and 
hid a mouth that I afterwards found had rather a disagreeable expres- 
sion. When his beard was removed, the upper teeth appeared to 
project very much ; and his countenance wore a ghastly fixed smile, 
by no means pleasant. 

It was very imprudent of me ; but when I saw the splendour 
of his appearance, the nobleness of his manner, I felt it impossible 
to keep disguise with him; and when he said, “Ah, you are a 
Hungarian, I see ! ” I could hold no longer. 

“ Sir,” said I, “I am an Irishman, and my name is Redmond 
Barry, of Ballybarry.” As I spoke, I burst into tears ; I can’t tell 
why ; but I had seen none of my kith or kin for six years, and my 
heart longed for some one. 


CHAPTER VIII 


BARRY BIDS ADIEU TO THE MILITARY PROFESSION 
OU who have never been out of your country, know little 



what it is to hear a friendly voice in captivity; and there’s 


A many a man that will not understand the cause of the burst 
of feeling which I have confessed took place on my seeing my uncle. 
He never for a minute thought to question the truth of what I said. 
“Mother of God ! ” cried he, “it’s my brother Harry’s son.” And 
I think in my heart he was as much affected as I was at thus 
suddenly finding one of his kindred ; for lie, too. was an exile from 
home, and a friendly voice, a look, brought the old country back to 
his memory again, and the old days of his boyhood. “ I’d give five 
years of my life to see them again,” said he, after caressing me 
very warmly. “What?” asked I. “Why,” replied he, “the 
green fields, and the river, and the old round tower, and the bury- 
ing-place at Rallybarry. ’Twas a shame for your father to part 
with the land, Redmond, that went so long with the name.” 

He then began to ask me concerning myself, and I gave him 
my history at some length ; at which the worthy gentleman laughed 
many times, saying, that I was a Barry all over. In the middle of 
my story he would stop me, to make me stand back to back, and 
measure with him (by which I ascertained that our heights were 
the same, and that my uncle had a stiff knee, moreover, which 
made him walk in a peculiar way), and uttered, during the course 
of the narrative, a hundred exclamations of pity, and kindness, and 
sympathy. It was “ Holy Saints ! ” and “ Mother of Heaven ! ” 
and “ Blessed Mary ! ” continually ; by which, and with justice, I 
concluded that he was still devotedly attached to the ancient faith 
of our family. 

It was with some difficulty that I came to explain to him the 
last part of my history, viz., that I was put into his service as a 
watch upon his actions, of which I was to give information in a 
certain quarter. When I told him (with a great deal of hesitation) 
of this fact, he burst out laughing, and enjoyed the joke amazingly. 
“ The rascals ! ” said he ; “ they think to catch me, do they? Why, 
Redmond, my chief conspiracy is a faro-bank. But the King is so 


100 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

jealous, that he will see a spy in every person who comes to his 
miserable capital in the great sandy desert here. Ah, my boy, I 
must show you Paris and Vienna ! ” 

I said there was nothing I longed for more than to see any city 
but Berlin, and should be delighted to be free of the odious military 
service. Indeed, I thought, from his splendour of appearance, the 
nicknacks about the room, the gilded carriage in the remise, that 
my uncle was a man of vast property ; and that he would purchase 
a dozen, nay, a whole regiment of substitutes, in order to restore me 
to freedom. 

But I was mistaken in my calculations regarding him, as his 
history of himself speedily showed me. “ I have been beaten about 
the world,” said he, “ever since the year 1742, when my brother 
your father (and Heaven forgive him) cut my family estate from 
under my heels, by turning heretic, in order to marry that scold 
of a mother of yours. Well, let bygones be bygones. ’Tis probable 
that I should have run through the little property as he did in my 
place, and I should have had to begin a year or two later the life I 
have been leading ever since I was compelled to leave Ireland. My 
lad, I have been in every service; and, between ourselves, owe 
money in every capital in Europe. I made a campaign or two 
with the Pandours under Austrian Trenck. I was captain in the 
Guard of his Holiness the Pope. I made the campaign of Scotland 
with the Prince of Wales — a bad fellow, my dear, caring more for 
his mistress and his brandy-bottle than for the crowns of the three 
kingdoms. I have served in Spain and in Piedmont ; but I have 
been a rolling stone, my good fellow. Play — play has been my 
ruin; that and beauty” (here he gave a leer which made him, I 
must confess, look anything but handsome; besides, his rouged 
cheeks were all beslobbered with the tears which he had shed on 
receiving me). “The women have made a fool of me, my dear 
Redmond. I am a soft-hearted creature, and this minute, at sixty- 
two, have no more command of myself than when Peggy O’Dwyer 
made a fool of me at sixteen.” 

“ ’Faith, sir,” says I, laughing, “ I think it runs in the family ! ” 
and described to him, much to his amusement, my romantic passion 
for my cousin, Nora Brady. He resumed his narrative. 

“ The cards now are my only livelihood. Sometimes I am in 
luck, and then I lay out my money in these trinkets you see. It’s 
property, look you, Redmond ; and the only way I have found of 
keeping a little about me. When the luck goes against me, why, 
my dear, my diamonds go to the pawnbrokers, and I wear paste. 
Friend Moses the goldsmith will pay me a visit this very day ; 
for the chances have been against me all the week past, and I 


I BECOME MY UNCLE’S YALET 101 

must raise money for the bank to-night. Do you understand the 
cards 1 ” 

I replied that I could play as soldiers do, but had no great 
skill. 

“We will practise in the morning, my boy,” said he, “and I’ll 
put you up to a thing or two worth knowing.” 

Of course I was glad to have such an opportunity of acquiring 
knowledge, and professed myself delighted to receive my uncle’s 
instruction. 

The Chevalier’s account of himself rather disagreeably affected 
me. All his show was on his back, as he said. His carriage, with 
the fine gilding, was a part of his stock-in-trade. He had a sort 
of mission from the Austrian Court : — it was to discover whether 
a certain quantity of alloyed ducats which has been traced to Berlin, 
were from the King’s treasury. But the real end of Monsieur de 
Balibara was play. There was a young attache of the English 
embassy, my Lord Deuceace, afterwards Viscount and Earl of Crabs 
in the English Peerage, who was playing high; and it was after 
hearing of the passion of this young English nobleman that my 
uncle, then at Prague, determined to visit Berlin and engage him. 
For there is a sort of chivalry among the knights of the dice-box : 
the fame of great players is known all over Europe. I have known 
the Chevalier de Casanova, for instance, to travel six hundred 
miles, from Paris to Turin, for the purpose of meeting Mr. Charles 
Fox, then only my Lord Holland’s dashing son, afterwards the 
greatest of European orators and statesmen. 

It was agreed that I should keep my character of valet ; that in 
the presence of strangers I should not know a word of English ; that 
I should keep a good look-out on the trumps when I was serving 
the champagne and punch about ; and, having a remarkably fine 
eyesight and a great natural aptitude, I was speedily able to give 
my dear uncle much assistance against his opponents at the green 
table. Some prudish persons may affect indignation at the frank- 
ness of these confessions, but Heaven pity them ! Do you suppose 
that any man who has lost or won a hundred thousand pounds at 
play will not take the advantages which his neighbour enjoys 1 ? 
They are all the same. But it is only the clumsy fool who cheats ; 
who resorts to the vulgar expedients of cogged dice and cut cards. 
Such a man is sure to go wrong some time or other, and is not fit 
to play in the society of gallant gentlemen ; and my advice to people 
who see such a vulgar person at his pranks is, of course, to back him 
while he plays, but never — never to have anything to do with him. 
Play grandly, honourably. Be not, of course, cast down at losing ; 
but above all, be not eager at winning, as mean souls are. And, 


102 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

indeed, with all one’s skill and advantages, winning is often proble- 
matical ; I have seen a sheer ignoramus that knows no more of play 
than of Hebrew, blunder you out of five thousand pounds in a few 
turns of the cards. I have seen a gentleman and his confederate 
play against another and his confederate. One never is secure in 
these cases : and when one considers the time and labour spent, the 
genius, the anxiety, the outlay of money required, the multiplicity of 
bad debts that one meets with (for dishonourable rascals are to be 
found at the play-table, as everywhere else in the world), I say, 
for my part, the profession is a bad one ; and, indeed, have scarcely 
ever met a man who, in the end, profited by it. I am writing now 
with the experience of a man of the world. At the time I speak of 
I was a lad, dazzled by the idea of wealth, and respecting, certainly 
too much, my uncle’s superior age and station in life. 

There is no need to particularise here the little arrangements 
made between us ; the play-men of the present day want no instruc- 
tion, I take it, and the public have little interest in the matter. 
But simplicity was our secret. Everything successful is simple. If, 
for instance, I wiped the dust off a chair with my napkin, it was to 
show that the enemy was strong in diamonds ; if I pushed it, he had 
ace, king ; if I said, “ Punch or wine, my Lord 1 ” hearts was meant ; 
if “ Wine or punch 1 ” clubs. If I blew my nose, it was to indicate 
that there was another confederate employed by the adversary ; and 
(hen, I warrant you, some pretty trials of skill would take place. 
My Lord Deuceace, although so young, had a very great skill and 
cleverness with the cards in every way ; and it was only from hearing 
Frank Punter, who came with him, yawn three times when the 
Chevalier had the ace of trumps, that I knew we were Greek to 
Greek, as it were. 

My assumed dulness was perfect ; and I used to make Monsieur 
de PotzdorfF laugh with it, when I earned my little reports to him 
at the Garden-house outside the town where he gave me rendezvous. 
These reports, of course, were arranged between me and my uncle 
beforehand. I was instructed (and it is always far the best way) 
to tell as much truth as my story would possibly bear. When, for 
instance, he would ask me, “What does the Chevalier do of a 
morning ? ” 

“ He goes to church regularly ” (he was very religious), “ and 
after hearing mass comes home to breakfast. Then he takes an 
airing in his chariot till dinner, which is served at noon. After 
dinner he writes his letters, if he have any letters to write : but he 
has very little to do in this way. His letters are to the Austrian 
envoy, with whom he corresponds, but who does not acknowledge 
him ; and being written in English, of course I look over his shoulder. 


KING FREDERICK’S SPY SYSTEM 103 

He generally writes for money. He says he wants it to bribe the 
secretaries of the Treasury, in order to find out really where the 
alloyed ducats come from ; but, in fact, he wants it to play of 
evenings, when he makes his party with Calsabigi, the lottery- 
contractor, the Russian attaches , two from the English embassy, 
my Lords Deuceace and Punter, who play a jeu d’enfer , and a few 
more. The same set meet every night at supper : there are seldom 
any ladies ; those who come are chiefly French ladies, members of 
the corps de ballet. He wins often, but not always. Lord Deuceace 
is a very fine player. The Chevalier Elliot, the English Minister, 
sometimes comes, on which occasion the secretaries do not play. 
Monsieur de Balibari dines at the missions, but en petit comite, , not 
on grand days of reception. Calsabigi, I think, is his confederate 
at play. He has won lately ; but the week before last he pledged 
his solitaire for four hundred ducats.” 

“Do he and the English attaches talk together in their own 
language ? ” 

“ Yes ; he and the envoy spoke yesterday for half-an-hour about 
the new danseuse and the American troubles : chiefly about the 
new danseuse .” 

It will be seen that the information I gave was very minute 
and accurate, though not very important. But such as it was, 
it was carried to the ears of that famous hero and warrior the 
Philosopher of Sans Souci; and there was not a stranger who 
entered the capital but his actions were similarly spied and related 
to Frederick the Great. 

As long as the play was confined to the young men of the 
different embassies, His Majesty did not care to prevent it; nay, 
he encouraged play at all the missions, knowing full well that a 
man in difficulties can be made to speak, and that a timely rouleau 
of Frederics would often get him a secret worth many thousands. 
He got some papers from the French house in this way : and I 
have no doubt that my Lord Deuceace would have supplied him 
with information at a similar rate, had his chief not known the 
young nobleman’s character pretty well, and had (as is usually the 
case) the work of the mission performed by a steady roturier , while 
the young brilliant bloods of the suite sported their embroidery at 
the balls, or shook their Mechlin ruffles over the green tables at 
faro. I have seen many scores of these young sprigs since, of these 
and their principals, and, mon Dieu 1 what fools they are ! What 
dullards, what fribbles, what addle-headed simple coxcombs ! This 
is one of the lies of the world, this diplomacy; or how could we 
suppose, that were the profession as difficult as the solemn red-box 
and tape-men would have us believe, they would invariably choose 


104 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

for it little pink-faced boys from school, with no other claim than 
mamma’s title, and able at most to judge of a curricle, a new dance, 
or a neat boot ? 

When it became known, however, to the officers of the garrison 
that there was a faro-table in town, they were wild to be admitted 
to the sport; and, in spite of my entreaties to the contrary, my 
uncle was not averse to allow the young gentlemen their fling, and 
once or twice cleared a handsome sum out of their purses. It was 
in vain I told him that I must carry the news to my captain, before 
whom his comrades would not fail to talk, and who would thus 
know of the intrigue even without my information. 

“ Tell him,” said my uncle. 

“ They will send you away,” said I ; “ then what is to become 
of me ? ” 

“ Make your mind easy,” said the latter, with a smile ; “you 
shall not be left behind, I warrant you. Go take a last look at 
your barracks, make your mind easy ; say a farewell to your friends 
in Berlin. The dear souls, how they will weep when they hear you 
are out of the country ; and, as sure as my name is Barry, out of it 
you shall go ! ” 

“ But how, sir 1 ” said I. 

“ Recollect Mr. Fakenham of Fakenham,” said he knowingly. 
“ ’Tis you yourself taught me how. Go get me one of my wigs. 
Open my despatch-box yonder, where the great secrets of the 
Austrian chancery lie ; put your hair back off your forehead ; clap 
me on this patch and these moustaches, and now look in the glass ! ” 

“The Chevalier de Balibari,” said I, bursting with laughter, 
and began walking the room in his manner, with his stiff knee. 

The next day, when I went to make my report to Monsieur 
de Potzdorff, I told him of the young Prussian officers that had 
been of late gambling ; and he replied, as I expected, that the King 
had determined to send the Chevalier out of the country. 

“He is a stingy curmudgeon,” I replied ; “I have had but 
three Frederics from him in two months, and I hope you will 
remember your promise to advance me ! ” 

“Why, three Frederics were too much for the news you have 
picked up,” said the Captain, sneering. 

“It is not my fault that there has been no more,” I replied. 
“ When is he to go, sir ? ” 

“The day after to-morrow. You say he drives after breakfast 
and before dinner. When he comes out to his carriage, a couple of 
gendarmes will mount the box, and the coachman will get his orders 
to move on.” 

“ And his baggage, sir 1 ” said I. 


PRELIMINARIES TO FLIGHT 


105 


“ Oh ! that will be sent after him. I have a fancy to look into 
that red box which contains his papers, you say; and at noon, 
after parade, shall be at the inn. You will not say a word to 
any one there regarding the affair, and will wait for me at the 
Chevalier’s rooms until my arrival. We must force that box. You 
are a clumsy hound, or you would have got the key long ago ! ” 

I begged the Captain to remember me, and so took my leave 
of him. The next night I placed a couple of pistols under the 
carriage seat ; and I think the adventures of the following day are 
quite worthy of the honours of a separate chapter. 


CHAPTER IX 


I APPEAR .IN’ A MANNER BECOMING MY NAME AND 
LINEAGE 

ORTUNE smiling at parting upon Monsieur de Balibari, enabled 
him to win a handsome sum with his faro-bank. 



* At ten o’clock the next morning, the carriage of the 
Chevalier de Balibari drew up as usual at the door of his hotel ; and 
the Chevalier, who was at his window, seeing the chariot arrive, 
came down the stairs in his usual stately manner. 

“ Where is my rascal Ambrose ? ” said he, looking around and 
not finding his servant to open the door. 

“ I will let down the steps for your honour,” said a gendarme, 
who was standing by the carriage ; and no sooner had the Chevalier 
entered, than the officer jumped in after him, another mounted the 
box by the coachman, and the latter began to drive. 

“ Good gracious ! ” said the Chevalier, “ what is this 1 ” 

“You are going to drive to the frontier,” said the gendarme, 
touching his hat. 

“It is shameful — infamous ! I insist upon being put down at 
the Austrian Ambassador’s house ! ” 

“ I have orders to gag your honour if you cry out,” said the 
gendarme. 

“ All Europe shall hear of this ! ” said the Chevalier in a 
fury. 

“ As you please,” answered the officer, and then both relapsed 
into silence. 

The silence was not broken between Berlin and Potzdam, through 
which place the Chevalier passed as His Majesty was reviewing his 
guards there, and the regiments of Billow, Zitwitz, and Henkel de 
Donnersmark. As the Chevalier passed His Majesty, the King 
raised his hat and said, “ Qu’il ne descende pas : je lui souhaite un 
bon voyage.” The Chevalier de Balibari acknowledged this courtesy 
by a profound bow. 

They had not got far beyond Potzdam, when boom ! the alarm 
cannon began to roar. 

“ It is a deserter,” said the officer. 


A SUCCESSFUL TRANSFORMATION 107 

“Is it possible!” said the Chevalier, and sank back into his 
carriage again. 

Hearing the sound of the guns, the common people came out 
along the road with fowling-pieces and pitchforks, in hopes to catch 
the truant. The gendarmes seemed very anxious to be on the look- 
out for him too. The price of a deserter was fifty crowns to those 
who brought him in. 

“ Confess, sir,” said the Chevalier to the police officer in the 
carriage with him, “ that you long to be rid of me, from whom you 
can get nothing, and to be on the look-out for the deserter who may 
bring you in fifty crowns % Why not tell the postillion to push on % 
You may land me at the frontier and get back to your hunt all 
the sooner.” The officer told the postillion to get on ; but the 
way seemed intolerably long to the Chevalier. Once or twice he 
thought he heard the noise of horse galloping behind : his own horses 
did not seem to go two miles an hour ; but they did go. The black 
and white barriers came in view at last, hard by Briick, and opposite 
them the green and yellow of Saxony. The Saxon custom-house 
officers came out. 

“ I have no luggage,” said the Chevalier. 

“The gentleman has nothing contraband,” said the Prussian 
officers, grinning, and took their leave of their prisoner with much 
respect. 

The Chevalier de Balibari gave them a Frederic apiece. 

“Gentlemen,” said he, “I wish you a good day. Will you 
please to go to the house whence we set out this morning, and tell my 
man there to send on my baggage to the ‘Three Kings’ at Dresden?” 

Then ordering fresh horses, the Chevalier set off on his journey 
for that capital. I need not tell you that I was the Chevalier. 

“ From the Chevalier de Balibari to Redmond Barry, Esquire , 

Gentilhomme Anglais , a VHotel des 3 Couronnes , a Dresde , 

en Saxe. 

“ Nephew Redmond, — This comes to you by a sure hand, 
no other than Mr. Lumpit of the English Mission, who is ac- 
quainted, as all Berlin will be directly, with our wonderful story. 
They only know half as yet ; they only know that a deserter went 
off in my clothes, and all are in admiration of your cleverness and 
valour. 

“ I confess that for two hours after your departure I lay in bed 
in no small trepidation, thinking whether His Majesty might have 
a fancy to send me to Spandau, for the freak of which we had both 
been guilty. But in that case I had taken my precautions : I had 


108 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

written a statement of the case to my chief, the Austrian Minister, 
with the full and true story how you had been set to spy upon me, 
how you turned out to be my very near relative, how you had been 
kidnapped yourself into the service, and how we both had determined 
to effect your escape. The laugh would have been so much against 
the King, that he never would have dared to lay a finger upon 
me. What would Monsieur de Voltaire have said to such an act 
of tyranny ? 

“ But it was a lucky day, and everything has turned out to my 
wish. As I lay in my bed two and a half hours after your departure, 
in comes your ex-Captain Potzdorff. ‘ Redmont ! ’ says he, in his 
imperious High Dutch way, ‘are you there? No answer. ‘The 
rogue is gone out,’ said he ; and straightway makes for my red box 
where I keep my love-letters, my glass eye which I used to wear, 
my favourite lucky dice with which I threw the thirteen mains at 
Prague ; my two sets of Paris teeth, and my other private matters 
that you know of. 

“He first tried a bunch of keys, but none of them would fit the 
little English lock. Then my gentleman takes out of his pocket a 
chisel and hammer, and falls to work like a professional burglar, 
actually bursting open my little box ! 

“ Now was my time to act. I advanced towards him armed 
with an immense water-jug. I come noiselessly up to him just 
as he had broken the box, and with all my might, I deal him such 
a blow over the head as smashes the water-jug to atoms, and sends 
my captain with a snort lifeless to the ground. I thought I had 
killed him. 

“ Then I ring all the bells in the house ; and shout and swear 
and scream, ‘ Thieves ! — thieves ! — landlord ! — murder ! — fire ! ’ until 
the whole household come tumbling up the stairs. ‘ Where is my 
servant?’ roar I. ‘Who dares to rob me in open day? Look 
at the villain whom I find in the act of breaking my chest open ! 
Send for the police, send for his Excellency the Austrian Minister ! 
all Europe shall know of this insult ! ’ 

“ ‘ Dear Heaven ! ’ says the landlord, ‘ we saw you go away three 
hours ago ! ’ 

“ ‘Met’ says I ; ‘ why, man, I have been in bed all the morn- 
ing. I am ill — I have taken physic — I have not left the house 
this morning ! Where is that scoundrel Ambrose ? But, stop ! 
where are my clothes and wig ? ’ for I was standing before them in 
my chamber-gown and stockings with my nightcap on. 

“ ‘ I have it— I have it ! ’ says a little chambermaid ; ‘ Ambrose 
is off in your honour’s dress.’ 

“‘And my money— my money!’ says I; ‘where is my purse 


THE CHEVALIER’S RUSE 109 

with forty-eight Frederics in it % But we have one of the villains 
left. Officers, seize him ! ’ 

“ ‘ It’s the young Herr von Potzdorff ! ’ says the landlord, more 
and more astonished. 

“ * What ! a gentleman breaking open my trunk with hammer 
and chisel — impossible ! ’ 

“ Herr von Potzdorff was returning to life by this time, with a 
swelling on his skull as big as a saucepan ; and the officers carried 
him off, and the judge who was sent for dressed a proces verbal of 
the matter, and I demanded a copy of it, which I sent forthwith to 
my ambassador. 

‘ I was kept a prisoner to my room the next day, and a judge, 
a general, and a host of lawyers, officers, and officials, were set upon 
me to bully, perplex, threaten, and cajole me. I said it was true 
you had told me that you had been kidnapped into the service, that 
I thought you were released from it, and that I had you with the 
best recommendations. I appealed to my Minister, who was bound 
to come to my aid ; and, to make a long story short, poor Potzdorff 
is now on his way to Spandau ; and his uncle, the elder Potzdorff, 
has brought me five hundred louis, with a humble request that I 
would leave Berlin forthwith, and hush up this painful matter. 

“ I shall be with you at the ‘ Three Crowns ’ the day after you 
receive this. Ask Mr. Lumpit to dinner. Do not spare your 
money — you are my son. Everybody in Dresden knows your loving 
uncle, The Chevalier de Balibari.” 

And by these wonderful circumstances I was once more free 
again : and I kept my resolution then made, never to fall more 
into the hands of any recruiter, and thenceforth and for ever to 
be a gentleman. 

With this sum of money, and a good run of luck which ensued 
presently, we were enabled to make no ungenteel figure. My uncle 
speedily joined me at the inn at Dresden, where, under pretence 
of illness, I had kept quiet until his arrival ; and, as the Chevalier 
de Balibari was in particular good odour at the Court of Dresden 
(having been an intimate acquaintance of the late monarch, the 
Elector, King of Poland, the most dissolute and agreeable of 
European princes), I was speedily in the very best society of the 
Saxon capital : where I may say that my own person and manners, 
and the singularity of the adventures in which I had been a hero, 
made me especially welcome. There was not a party of the nobility 
to which the two gentlemen of Balibari were not invited. I had the 
honour of kissing hands and being graciously received at Court 
by the Elector, and I wrote home to my mother such a flaming 


110 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

description of my prosperity, that the good soul very nearly forgot 
her celestial welfare and her confessor, the Reverend J oshua J owls, 
in order to come after me to Germany ; but travelling was very 
difficult in those days, and so we were spared the arrival of the 
good lady. 

I think the soul of Harry Barry, my father, who was always 
so genteel in his turn of mind, must have rejoiced to see the 
position which I now occupied ; all the women anxious to receive 
me, all the men in a fury ; hobnobbing with dukes and counts at 
supper, dancing minuets with high-well-born baronesses (as they 
absurdly call themselves in Germany), with lovely excellencies, nay, 
with highnesses and transparencies themselves, who could compete 
with the gallant young Irish noble ? who would suppose that seven 
weeks before I had been a common — bah ! I am ashamed to think 
of it ! One of the pleasantest moments of my life was at a grand 
gala at the Electoral Palace, where I had the honour of walking a 
polonaise with no other than the Margravine of Bayreuth, old 
Fritz’s own sister : old Fritz’s, whose hateful bluebaize livery I had 
worn, whose belts I had pipeclayed, and whose abominable rations 
of small beer and sauerkraut I had swallowed for five years. 

Having won an English chariot from an Italian gentleman at 
play, my uncle had our arms painted on the panels in a more 
splendid way than ever, surmounted (as we were descended from 
the ancient kings) with an Irish crown of the most splendid size 
and gilding. I had this crown in lieu of a coronet engraved on a 
large amethyst signet-ring worn on my forefinger ; and I don’t mind 
confessing that I used to say the jewel had been in my family for 
several thousand years, having originally belonged to my direct 
ancestor, his late Majesty King Brian Boru, or Barry. I warrant 
the legends of the Heralds’ College are not more authentic than 
mine was. 

At first the minister and the gentlemen at the English hotel 
used to be rather shy of us two Irish noblemen, and questioned our 
pretensions to rank. The minister was a lord’s son, it is true, but 
he was likewise a grocer’s grandson ; and so I told him at Count 
Lobkowitz’s masquerade. My uncle, like a noble gentleman as he 
was, knew the pedigree of every considerable family in Europe. 
He said it was the only knowledge befitting a gentleman ; and when 
we were not at cards, we would pass hours over Gwillim or 
D’Hozier, reading the genealogies, learning the blazons, and making 
ourselves acquainted with the relationships of our class. Alas ! the 
noble science is going into disrepute now; so are cards, without 
which studies and pastimes I can hardly conceive how a man of 
honour can exist. 


WE MIX IX HIGH SOCIETY 


111 


My first affair of honour with a man of undoubted fashion was 
on the score of my nobility, with young Sir Rumford Bumford of 
the English Embassy ; my uncle at the same time sending a cartel 
to the Minister, who declined to come. I shot Sir Rumford in the 
leg, amidst the tears of joy of my uncle, who accompanied me to 
the ground ; and I promise you that none of the young gentlemen 
questioned the authenticity of my pedigree, or laughed at my Irish 
crown again. 

What a delightful life did we now lead ! I knew I was born a 
gentleman, from the kindly way in which I took to the business : as 
business it certainly is. For though it seems all pleasure, yet I assure 
any low-bred persons who may chance to read this, that we, their 
betters, have to work as well as they : though I did not rise until 
noon, yet had I not been up at play until long past midnight? 
Many a time have we come home to bed as the troops were march- 
ing out to early parade ; and oh ! it did my heart good to hear the 
bugles blowing the reveille before daybreak, or to see the regiments 
marching out to exercise, and think that I was no longer bound to 
that disgusting discipline, but restored to my natural station. 

I came into it at once, and as if I had never done anything else 
all my life. I had a gentleman to wait upon me, a French friseur 
to dress my hair of a morning ; I knew the taste of chocolate as by 
intuition almost, and could distinguish between the right Spanish 
and the French before I had been a week in my new position ; I 
had rings on all my fingers, watches in both my fobs, canes, trinkets, 
and snuff-boxes of all sorts, and each outvying the other in elegance. 
I had the finest natural taste for lace and china of any man I ever 
knew ; I could judge a horse as well as any Jew dealer in Germany ; 
in shooting and athletic exercises I was unrivalled; I could not 
spell, but I could speak German and French cleverly. I had at the 
least twelve suits of clothes ; three richly embroidered with gold, 
two laced with silver, a garnet-coloured velvet pelisse lined with 
sable; one of French grey, silver-laced and lined with chinchilla. 
I had damask morning robes. I took lessons on the guitar, and 
sang French catches exquisitely. Where, in fact, was there a more 
accomplished gentleman than Redmond de Balibari ? 

All the luxuries becoming my station could not, of course, be 
purchased without credit and money: to procure which, as our 
patrimony had been wasted by our ancestors, and we were above 
the vulgarity and slow returns and doubtful chances of trade, my 
uncle kept a faro-bank. We were in partnership with a Florentine, 
well known in all the Courts of Europe, the Count Alessandro Pippi, 
as skilful a player as ever was seen ; but he turned out a sad knave 
latterly, and I have discovered that his countship was a mere impos- 


112 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

ture. My uncle was maimed, as I have said ; Pippi, like all 
impostors, was a coward ; it was my unrivalled skill with the sword, 
and readiness to use it, that maintained the reputation of the firm, 
so to speak, and silenced many a timid gambler who might have 
hesitated to pay his losings. We always played on parole with 
anybody: any person, that is, of honour and noble lineage. We 
never pressed for our winnings or declined to receive promissory 
notes in lieu of gold. But woe to the man who did not pay when 
the note became due ! Redmond de Balibari was sure to wait upon 
him with his bill, and I promise you there were very few bad debts : 
on the contrary, gentlemen were grateful to us for our forbearance, 
and our character for honour stood unimpeached. In later times, a 
vulgar national prejudice has chosen to cast a slur upon the char- 
acter of men of honour engaged in the profession of play; but I 
speak of the good old days in Europe, before the cowardice of the 
French aristocracy (in the shameful Revolution, which served them 
right) brought discredit and ruin upon our order. They cry fie 
now upon men engaged in play ; but I should like to know how 
much more honourable their modes of livelihood are than ours. 
The broker of the Exchange who bulls and bears, and buys and 
sells, and dabbles witli lying loans, and trades on State secrets, 
what is he but a gamester? The merchant who deals in teas and 
tallow, is he any better ? His bales of dirty indigo are his dice, 
his cards come up every year instead of every ten minutes, and the 
sea is his green table. You call the profession of the law an honour- 
able one, where a man will lie for any bidder ; lie down poverty for 
the sake of a fee from wealth, lie down right because wrong is in 
his brief. You call a doctor an honourable man, a swindling quack, 
who does not believe in the nostrums which he prescribes, and takes 
your guinea for whispering in your ear that it is a fine morning; 
and yet, forsooth, a gallant man who sits him down before the 
baize and challenges all comers, his money against theirs, his fortune 
against theirs, is proscribed by your modern moral world. It is a 
conspiracy of the middle classes against gentlemen : it is only the 
shopkeeper cant which is to go down nowadays. I say that play 
was an institution of chivalry : it has been wrecked, along with 
other privileges of men of birth. When Seingalt engaged a man for 
six-and-thirty hours without leaving the table, do you think he 
showed no courage? How have we had the best blood, and the 
brightest eyes, too, of Europe throbbing round the table, as I and 
my uncle have held the cards and the bank against some terrible 
player, who was matching some thousands out of his millions against 
our all which was there on the baize ! When we engaged that 
daring Alexis Kossloffsky, and won seven thousand louis in a single 


LADIES’ LOSSES AT PLAY 


113 


coup, had we lost, we should have been beggars the next day ; 
when he lost, he was only a village and a few hundred serfs in pawn 
the worse. When, at Toeplitz, the Duke of Courland brought four- 
teen lacqueys, each with four bags of florins, and challenged our 
bank to play against the sealed bags, what did we ask ? “ Sir,” 

said we, “we have but eighty thousand florins in bank, or two 
hundred thousand at three months. If your Highness’s bags do not 
contain more than eighty thousand, we will meet you.” And we 
did, and after eleven hours’ play, in which our bank was at one 
time reduced to two hundred and three ducats, we won seventeen 
thousand florins of him. Is this not something like boldness ? does 
this profession not require skill, and perseverance, and bravery? 
Four crowned heads looked on at the game, and an Imperial princess, 
when I turned up the ace of hearts and made Paroli, burst into 
tears. No man on the European Continent held a higher position 
than Redmond Barry then ; and when the Duke of Courland lost, 
he was pleased to say that we had won nobly ; and so we had, and 
spent nobly what we won. 

At this period my uncle, who attended mass every day regularly, 
always put ten florins into the box. Wherever we went, the tavern- 
keepers made us more welcome than royal princes. We used to 
give away the broken meat from our suppers and dinners to scores 
of beggars who blessed us. Every man who held my horse or 
cleaned my boots got a ducat for his pains. I was, I may say, 
the author of our common good fortune, by putting boldness into 
our play. Pippi was a faint-hearted fellow, who was always 
cowardly when he began to win. My uncle (I speak with great 
respect of him) was too much of a devotee, and too much of a 
martinet at play ever to win greatly. His moral courage was un- 
questionable, but his daring was not sufficient. Both of these my 
seniors very soon acknowledged me to be their chief, and hence the 
style of splendour I have described. 

I have mentioned H.I.H. the Princess Frederica Amelia, who 
was affected by my success, and shall always think with gratitude 
of the protection with which that exalted lady honoured me. She 
was passionately fond of play, as indeed were the ladies of almost 
all the Courts in Europe in those days, and hence would often arise 
no small trouble to us ; for the truth must be told, that ladies love 
to play, certainly, but not to pay. The point of honour is not 
understood by the charming sex; and it was with the greatest 
difficulty, in our peregrinations to the various Courts of Northern 
Europe, that we could keep them from the table, could get their 
money if they lost, or, if they paid, prevent them from using the 
most furious and extraordinary means of revenge. In those great 


114 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

days of our fortune, I calculate that we lost no less than fourteen 
thousand louis by such failures of payment. A princess of a ducal 
house gave us paste instead of diamonds, which she had solemnly 
pledged to us; another organised a robbery of the Crown jewels, 
and would have charged the theft upon us, but for Pippi’s caution, 
who had kept back a note of hand “ her High Transparency ” gave 
us, and sent it to his ambassador ; by which precaution I do believe 
our necks were saved. A third lady of high (but not princely) 
rank, after I had won a considerable sum in diamonds and pearls 
from her, sent her lover with a band of cut-throats to waylay me ; 
and it was only by extraordinary courage, skill, and good luck, that 
I escaped from these villains, wounded myself, but leaving the chief 
aggressor dead on the ground : my sword entered his eye and broke 
there, and the villains who were with him fled, seeing their chief 
fall. They might have finished me else, for I had no weapon of 
defence. 

Thus it will be seen that our life, for all its splendour, was one 
of extreme danger and difficulty, requiring high talents and courage 
for success ; and often, when we were in a full vein of success, we 
were suddenly driven from our ground on account of some freak of 
a reigning prince, some intrigue of a disappointed mistress, or some 
quarrel with the police minister. If the latter personage were not 
bribed or won over, nothing was more common than for us to receive 
a sudden order of departure ; and so, perforce, we lived a wandering 
and desultory life. 

Though the gains of such a life are, as I have said, very great, 
yet the expenses are enormous. Our appearance and retinue was 
too splendid for the narrow mind of Pippi, who was always crying 
out at my extravagance, though obliged to own that his own mean- 
ness and parsimony would never have achieved the great victories 
which my generosity had won. With all our success, our capital 
was not very great. That speech to the Duke of Courland, for 
instance, was a mere boast as far as the two hundred thousand 
florins at three months were concerned. We had no credit, and 
no money beyond that on our table, and should have been forced 
to fly if his Highness had won and accepted our bills. Sometimes, 
too, we were hit very hard. A bank is a certainty, almost ; but 
now and then a bad day will come ; and men who have the courage 
of good fortune, at least, ought to meet bad luck well : the former, 
believe me, is the harder task of the two. 

One of those evil chances befell us in the Duke of Baden’s terri- 
tory, at Mannheim. Pippi, who was always on the look-out for 
business, offered to make a bank at the inn where we put up, and 
where the officers of the Duke’s cuirassiers supped : and some small 


ILL LUCK AND TREACHERY 


115 


play accordingly took place, and some wretched crowns and louis 
changed hands : I trust, rather to the advantage of these poor 
gentlemen of the army, who are surely the poorest of all devils 
under the sun. 

But, as ill luck would have it, a couple of young students from 
the neighbouring University of Heidelberg, who had come to Mann- 
heim for their quarter’s revenue, and so had some hundred of dollars 
between them, were introduced to the table, and, having never played 
before, began to win (as is always the case). As ill luck would have it, 
too, they were tipsy, and against tipsiness I have often found the best 
calculations of play fail entirely. They played in the most perfectly 
insane way, and yet won always. Every card they backed turned up 
in their favour. They had won a hundred louis from us in ten 
minutes ; and, seeing that Pippi was growing angry and the luck 
against us, I was for shutting up the bank for the night, saying the 
play was only meant for a joke, and that now we had had enough. 

But Pippi, who had quarrelled with me that day, was determined 
to proceed, and the upshot was, that the students played and won 
more ; then they lent money to the officers, who began to win, too ; 
and in this ignoble way, in a tavern room thick with tobacco-smoke, 
across a deal table besmeared with beer and liquor, and to a parcel 
of hungry subalterns and a pair of beardless students, three of the 
most skilful and renowned players in Europe lost seventeen hundred 
louis ! I blush now when I think of it. It was like Charles XII. 
or Richard Coeur de Lion falling before a petty fortress and an 
unknown hand (as my friend Mr. Johnson wrote), and was, in fact, 
a most shameful defeat. 

Nor was this the only defeat. When our poor conquerors had 
gone off, bewildered with the treasure which fortune had flung 
in their way (one of these students was called the Baron de 
Clootz, perhaps he who afterwards lost his head at Paris), Pippi 
resumed the quarrel of the morning, and some exceedingly high words 
passed between us. Among other things I recollect I knocked him 
down with a stool, and was for flinging him out of window ; but my 
uncle, who was cool, and had been keeping Lent with his usual 
solemnity, interposed between us, and a reconciliation took place, 
Pippi apologising and confessing he had been wrong. 

I ought to have doubted, however, the sincerity of the treacherous 
Italian ; indeed, as I never before believed a word that he said in 
his life, I know not why I w r as so foolish as to credit him now, and 
go to bed, leaving the keys of our cash-box with him. It contained, 
after our loss to the cuirassiers, in bills and money, near upon £8000 
sterling. Pippi insisted that our reconciliation should be ratified 
over a bowl of hot wine, and I have no doubt put some soporific drug 


116 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

into the liquor ; for my uncle and I both slept till very late the next 
morning, and woke with violent headaches and fever : we did not 
quit our beds till noon. He had been gone twelve hours, leaving our 
treasury empty ; and behind him a sort of calculation, by which he 
strove to make out that this was his share of the profits, and that all 
the losses had been incurred without his consent. 

Thus, after eighteen months, we had to begin the world again. 
But was I cast down? No. Our wardrobes still were worth a very 
large sum of money ; for gentlemen did not dress like parish-clerks 
in those days, and a person of fashion would often wear a suit of 
clothes and a set of ornaments that would be a shop-boy’s fortune ; 
so, without repining for one single minute, or saying a single angry 
word (my uncle’s temper in this respect was admirable), or allowing 
the secret of our loss to be known to a mortal soul, we pawned three- 
fourths of our jewels and clothes to Moses Lowe the banker, and 
with the produce of the sale, and our private pocket-money, amount- 
ing in all to something less than eight hundred louis, we took the 
field again. 


CHAPTER X 


MORE RUNS OF LUCK 

I AM not going to entertain my readers with an account of my 
professional career as a gamester, any more than I did with 
anecdotes of my life as a military man. I might fill volumes 
with tales of this kind were I so minded; but at this rate, my 
recital would not be brought to a conclusion for years, and who 
knows how soon I may be called upon to stop? I have gout, 
rheumatism, gravel, and a disordered liver. I have two or three 
wounds in my body, which break out every now and then, and give 
me intolerable pain, and a hundred more signs of breaking up. 
Such are the effects of time, illness, and free-living, upon one of the 
strongest constitutions and finest forms the world ever saw. Ah ! 
I suffered from none of these ills in the year ’66, when there was 
no man in Europe more gay in spirits, more splendid in personal 
accomplishments, than young Redmond Barry. 

Before the treachery of the scoundrel Pippi, I had visited many 
of the best Courts of Europe ; especially the smaller ones, where 
play was patronised, and the professors of that science always 
welcome. Among the ecclesiastical principalities of the Rhine we 
were particularly well received. I never knew finer or gayer Courts 
than those of the Electors of Treves and Cologne, where there was 
more splendour and gaiety than at Vienna ; far more than in the 
wretched barrack-court of Berlin. The Court of the Archduchess- 
Governess of the Netherlands was, likewise, a royal place for us 
knights of the dice-box and gallant votaries of fortune ; whereas in 
the stingy Dutch or the beggarly Swiss republics, it was impossible 
for a gentleman to gain a livelihood unmolested. 

After our mishap at Mannheim, my uncle and I made for the 

Duchy of X . The reader may find out the place easily 

enough; but I do not choose to print at full the names of some 
illustrious persons in whose society I then fell, and among whom I 
was made the sharer in a very strange and tragical adventure. 

There was no Court in Europe at which strangers were more 

welcome than at that of the noble Duke of X ■; none where 

pleasure was more eagerly sought after, and more splendidly enjoyed. 


118 THE MEMOIRS OF l^RRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

The Prince did not inhabit his capital of S , but, imitating in 

every respect the ceremonial of the Court of Versailles, built himself 
a magnificent palace at a few leagues from his chief city, and round 
about his palace a superb aristocratic town, inhabited entirely by his 
nobles, and the officers of his sumptuous Court. The people were 
rather hardly pressed, to be sure, in order to keep up this splendour ; 
for his Highness’s dominions were small, and so he wisely lived in a 
sort of awful retirement from them, seldom showing his face in his 
capital, or seeing any countenances but those of his faithful domestics 
and officers. His palace and gardens of Ludwigslust were exactly 
on the French model. Twice a week there were Court receptions, 
and grand Court galas twice a month. There was the finest opera 
out of France, and a ballet unrivalled in splendour ; on which his 
Highness, a great lover of music and dancing, expended prodigious 
sums. It may be because I was then young, but I think I never 
saw such an assemblage of brilliant beauty as used to figure there 
on the stage of the Court theatre, in the grand mythological ballets 
which were then the mode, and in which you saw Mars in red-heeled 
pumps and a periwig, and Venus in patches and a hoop. They say 
the costume was incorrect, and have changed it since; but for my 
part, I have never seen a Venus more lovely than the Coralie, 
who was the chief dancer, and found no fault with the attendant 
nymphs, in their trains, and lappets, and powder. These operas 
used to take place twice a week, after which some great officer of 
the Court would have his evening, and his brilliant supper, and the 
dice-box rattled everywhere, and all the world played. I have seen 
seventy play-tables set out in the grand gallery of Ludwigslust, 
besides the faro-bank; where the Duke himself would graciously 
come and play, and win or lose with a truly royal splendour. 

It was hither we came after the Mannheim misfortune. The 
nobility of the Court were pleased to say our reputation had pre- 
ceded us, and the two Irish gentlemen were made welcome. The 
very first night at Court we lost 740 of our 800 louis; the next 
evening at the Court Marshal’s table, I won them back, with 1300 
more. You may be sure we allowed no one to know how near we 
were to ruin on the first evening ; but, on the contrary, I endeared 
every one to me by my gay manner of losing, and the Finance 
Minister himself cashed a note for 400 ducats, drawn by me upon 
my steward of Ballybarry Castle in the kingdom of Ireland ; which 
very note I won from his Excellency the next day, along with a 
considerable sum in ready cash. In that noble Court everybody 
was a gambler. You would see the lacqueys in the ducal ante- 
rooms at work with their dirty packs of cards ; the coach- and chair- 
men playing in the court, while their masters were punting in the 


THE COURT AT LUDWIGSLUST 119 

saloons above ; the very cook-maids and scullions, I was told, had 
a bank, where one of them, an Italian confectioner, made a hand- 
some fortune : he purchased afterwards a Roman marquisate, and 
his son has figured as one of the most fashionable of the illustrious 
foreigners in London. The poor devils of soldiers played away their 
pay when they got it, which was seldom ; and I don’t believe there 
was an officer in any one of the guard regiments but had his cards 
in his pouch, and no more forgot his dice than his sword-knot. 
Among such fellows it was diamond cut diamond. What you call 
fair-play would have been a folly. The gentlemen of Ballybarry 
would have been fools indeed to appear as pigeons in such a hawk’s 
nest. None but men of courage and genius could live and prosper 
in a society where every one was bold and clever ; and here my uncle 
and I held our own : ay, and more than our own. 

His Highness the Duke was a widower, or rather, since the 
death of the reigning duchess, had contracted a morganatic marriage 
with a lady whom he had ennobled, and who considered it a compli- 
ment (such was the morality of those days) to be called the Northern 
Dubarry. He had been married very young, and his son, the 
hereditary prince, may be said to have been the political sovereign 
of the State : for the reigning Duke was fonder of pleasure than 
of politics, and loved to talk a great deal more with his grand 
huntsman, or the director of his opera, than with ministers and 
ambassadors. 

The hereditary prince, whom I shall call Prince Victor, was of 
a very different character from his august father. He had made 
the Wars of the Succession and Seven Years with great credit in 
the Empress’s service, was of a stern character, seldom appeared at 
Court, except when ceremony called him, but lived almost alone in 
his wing of the palace, where he devoted himself to the severest 
studies, being a great astronomer and chemist. He shared in the 
rage then common throughout Europe, of hunting for the philo- 
sopher’s stone ; and my uncle often regretted that he had no smatter- 
ing of chemistry, like Balsamo (who called himself Cagliostro), St. 
Germain, and other individuals, who had obtained very great sums 
from Duke Victor by aiding him in his search after the great secret. 
His amusements were hunting and reviewing the troops; but for 
him, and if his good-natured father had not had his aid, the army 
would have been playing at cards all day, and so it was well that 
the prudent prince was left to govern. 

Duke Victor was fifty years of age, and his princess, the 
Princess Olivia, was scarce three-and-twenty. They had been 
married seven years, and in the first years of their union the 
Princess had borne him a son and a daughter. The stern morals 


120 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

and manners, the dark and ungainly appearance, of the husband, 
were little likely to please the brilliant and fascinating young 
woman, who had been educated in the south (she was connected 

with the ducal house of S ), who had passed two years at Paris 

under the guardianship of Mesdames the daughters of His Most 
Christian Majesty, and who was the life and soul of the Court of 

X , the gayest of the gay, the idol of her august father-in-law, 

and, indeed, of the whole Court. She was not beautiful, but 
charming; not witty, but charming, too, in her conversation as in 
her person. She was extravagant beyond all measure; so false, 
that you could not trust her ; but her very weaknesses were more 
winning than the virtues of other women, her selfishness more 
delightful than others’ generosity. I never knew a woman whose 
faults made her so attractive. She used to ruin people, and yet they 
all loved her. My old uncle has seen her cheating at ombre, and 
let her win four hundred louis without resisting in the least. Her 
caprices with the officers and ladies of her household were ceaseless : 
but they adored her. She was the only one of the reigning family 
whom the people worshipped. She never went abroad but they 
followed her carriage with shouts of acclamation : and, to be generous 
to them, she would borrow the last penny from one of her poor 
maids of honour, whom she would never pay. In the early days 
her husband was as much fascinated by her as all the rest of the 
world was; but her caprices had caused frightful outbreaks of 
temper on his part, and an estrangement which, though interrupted 
by almost mad returns of love, was still general. I speak of her 
Royal Highness with perfect candour and admiration, although I 
might be pardoned for judging her more severely, considering her 
opinion of myself. She said the elder Monsieur de Balibari was a 
finished old gentleman, and the younger one had the manners of a 
courier. The world has given a different opinion, and I can afford 
to chronicle this almost single sentence against me. Besides, she 
had a reason for her dislike to me, which you shall hear. 

Five years in the army, long experience of the world, had ere 
now dispelled any of those romantic notions regarding love with 
which I commenced life ; and I had determined, as is proper with 
gentlemen (it is only your low people who marry for mere affection), 
to consolidate my fortunes by marriage. In the course of our 
peregrinations, my uncle and I had made several attempts to carry 
this object into effect ; but numerous disappointments had occurred, 
which are not worth mentioning here, and had prevented me hitherto 
from making such a match as I thought was worthy of a man of 
my birth, abilities, and personal appearance. Ladies are not in 
the habit of running away on the Continent, as is the custom in 


121 


THE COUNTESS IDA 

England (a custom whereby many honourable gentlemen of my 
country have much benefited !) ; guardians, and ceremonies, and 
difficulties of all kinds intervene ; true love is not allowed to have 
its course, and poor women cannot give away their honest hearts to 
the gallant fellows who have won them. Now it was settlements 
that were asked for ; now it was my pedigree and title-deeds that 
were not satisfactory : though I had a plan and rent-roll of the 
Ballybarry estates, and the genealogy of the family up to King 
Brian Boru, or Barry, most handsomely designed on paper; now 
it was a young lady who was whisked off to a convent just as she 
was ready to fall into my arms ; on another occasion, when a rich 
widow of the Low Countries was about to make me lord of a noble 
estate in Flanders, comes an order of the police which drives me 
out of Brussels at an hour’s notice, and consigns my mourner to 

her chateau. But at X I had an opportunity of playing a 

great game : and had won it too, but for the dreadful catastrophe 
which upset my fortune. 

In the household of the hereditary Princess, there was a lady 
nineteen years of age, and possessor of the greatest fortune in the 
whole duchy. The Countess Ida, such was her name, was daughter 

of a late Minister and favourite of his Highness the Duke of X 

and his Duchess, who had done her the honour to be her sponsors 
at birth, and who, at the father’s death, had taken her under their 
august guardianship and protection. At sixteen she was brought 
from her castle, where, up to that period, she had been permitted 
to reside, and had been placed with the Princess Olivia, as one of 
her Highness’s maids of honour. 

The aunt of the Countess Ida, who presided over her house 
during her minority, had foolishly allowed her to contract an attach- 
ment for her cousin-german, a penniless sub-lieutenant in one of 
the Duke’s foot regiments, who had flattered himself to be able to 
carry off this rich prize ; and if he had not been a blundering silly 
idiot indeed, with the advantage of seeing her constantly, of having 
no rival near him, and the intimacy attendant upon close kinsman- 
ship, might easily, by a private marriage, have secured the young 
Countess and her possessions. But he managed matters so foolishly, 
that he allowed her to leave her retirement, to come to Court for 
a year, and take her place in the Princess Olivia’s household; 
and then what does my young gentleman do, but appear at the 
Duke’s levde one day, in his tarnished epaulet and threadbare 
coat, and make an application in due form to his Highness, as 
the young lady’s guardian, for the hand of the richest heiress in 
his dominions. 

The weakness of the good-natured Prince was such that, as the 


122 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Countess Ida lierself was quite as eager for the match as her silly 
cousin, his Highness might have been induced to allow the match, 
had not the Princess Olivia been induced to interpose, and to pro- 
cure from the Duke a peremptory veto to the hopes of the young 
man. The cause of this refusal was as yet unknown; no other 
suitor for the young lady’s hand was mentioned, and the lovers 
continued to correspond, hoping that time might effect a change 
in his Highness’s resolutions; when, of a sudden, the lieutenant 
was drafted into one of the regiments which the Prince was in the 
habit of selling to the great powers then at war (this military 
commerce was a principal part of his Highness’s and other princes’ 
revenues in those days), and their connection "was thus abruptly 
broken off. 

It was strange that the Princess Olivia should have taken this 
part against a young lady who had been her favourite ; for, at first, 
with those romantic and sentimental notions which almost every 
woman has, she had somewhat encouraged the Countess Ida and 
her penniless lover, but now suddenly turned against them; and, 
from loving the Countess, as she previously had done, pursued her 
with every manner of hatred which a woman knows how to inflict : 
there was no end to the ingenuity of her tortures, the venom of her 
tongue, the bitterness of her sarcasm and scorn. When I first came 

to court at X , the young fellows there had nicknamed the 

young lady the Durnme Grdfinn, the stupid Countess. She was 
generally silent, handsome, but pale, stolid-looking, and awkward; 
taking no interest in the amusements of the place, and appearing 
in the midst of the feasts as glum as the death’s-head which, they 
say, the Romans used to have at their tables. 

It was rumoured that a young gentleman of French extraction, 
the Chevalier de Magny, equerry to the Hereditary Prince, and 
present at Paris w T hen the Princess Olivia was married to him by 
proxy there, was the intended of the rich Countess Ida; but no 
official declaration of the kind was yet made, and there were 
whispers of a dark intrigue : which, subsequently, received frightful 
confirmation. 

This Chevalier de Magny was the grandson of an old general 
officer in the Duke’s service, the Baron de Magny. The Baron’s 
father had quitted France at the expulsion of Protestants after the 

revocation of the edict of Nantes, and taken service in X , 

where he died. The son succeeded him, and quite unlike most 
French gentlemen of birth whom I have known, was a stern and 
cold Calvinist, rigid in the performance of his duty, retiring in his 
manners, mingling little with the Court, and a close friend and 
favourite of Duke Victor ; whom he resembled in disposition. 


A BOLD STRATAGEM 


123 


The Chevalier his grandson was a true Frenchman ; he had been 
born in France, where his father held a diplomatic appointment in 
the Duke’s service. He had mingled in the gay society of the most 
brilliant Court in the world, and had endless stories to tell us of the 
pleasures of the petites maisons , of the secrets of the Parc aux Cerfs, 
and of the wild gaieties of Richelieu and his companions. He had 
been almost ruined at play, as his father had been before him ; for, 
out of the reach of the stern old Baron in Germany, both son and 
grandson had led the most reckless of lives. He came back from 
Paris soon after the embassy which had been despatched thither 
on the occasion of the marriage of the Princess, was received sternly 
by his old grandfather; who, however, paid his debts once more, 
and procured him the post in the Duke’s household. The Chevalier 
de Magny rendered himself a great favourite of his august master ; 
he brought with him the modes and the gaieties of Paris ; he was 
the deviser of all the masquerades and balls, the recruiter of the 
ballet-dancers, and by far the most brilliant and splendid young 
gentleman of the Court. 

After we had been a few weeks at Ludwigslust, the old Baron 
de Magny endeavoured to have us dismissed from the duchy ; bat 
his voice was not strong enough to overcome that of the general 
public, and the Chevalier de Magny especially stood our friend with 
his Highness when the question was debated before him. The 
Chevalier’s love of play had not deserted him. He was a regular 
frequenter of our bank, where he played for some time with pretty 
good luck; and where, when he began to lose, he paid with a 
regularity surprising to all those who knew the smallness of his 
means, and the splendour of his appearance. 

Her Highness the Princess Olivia was also very fond of play. 
On half-a-dozen occasions when we held a bank at Court, I could 
see her passion for the game. I could see — that is, my cool-headed 
old uncle could see — much more. There was an intelligence between 
Monsieur de Magny and this illustrious lady. “ If her Highness be 
not in love with the little Frenchman,” my uncle said to me one 
night after play, “ may I lose the sight of my last eye ! ” 

“ And what then, sir ? ” said I. 

“What then?” said my uncle, looking me hard in the face. 
“ Are you so green as not to know what then ? Your fortune is to 
be made, if you choose to back it now ; and we may have back the 
Barry estates in two years, my boy.” 

“ How is that ? ” asked I, still at a loss. 

My uncle drily said, “Get Magny to play; never mind his 
paying : take his notes of hand. The more he owes the better ; 
but, above all, make him play.” 


124 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“He can’t pay a shilling,” answered I. “The Jews will not 
discount his notes at cent, per cent.” 

“ So much the better. You shall see we will make use of them,” 
answered the old gentleman. And I must confess that the plan he 
laid was a gallant, clever, and fair one. 

I was to make Magny play ; in this there was no great diffi- 
culty. We? had an intimacy together, for he was a good sportsman 
as well as myself, and we came to have a pretty considerable friend- 
ship for one another; if he saw’ a dice-box it was impossible to 
prevent him from handling it; but he took to it as natural as a 
child does to sweetmeats. 

At first he won of me ; then he began to lose ; then I played 
him money against some jewels that he brought : family trinkets, 
he said, and indeed of considerable value. He begged me, however, 
not to dispose of them in the duchy, and I gave and kept my word 
to him to this effect. From jewels he got to playing upon promis- 
sory notes ; and as they would not allow him to play at the Court 
tables and in public upon credit, he was very glad to have an oppor- 
tunity of indulging his favourite passion in private. I have had 
him for hours at my pavilion (which I had fitted up in the Eastern 
manner, very splendid) rattling the dice till it became time to go to 
his service at Court, and we would spend day after day in this 
manner. He brought me more jew r els, — a pearl necklace, an antique 
emerald breast ornament, and other trinkets, as a set-off against 
these losses : for I need not say that I should not have played with 
him all this time had he been winning ; but, after about a week, 
the luck set in against him, and he became my debtor in a prodigious 
sum. I do not care to mention the extent of it ; it was such as I 
never thought the young man could pay. 

Why, then, did I play for it ? Why waste days in private play 
with a mere bankrupt, when business seemingly much more profitable 
w r as to be done elsewhere 1 My reason I boldly confess. I wanted to 
win from Monsieur de Magny, not his money, but his intended wife, 
the Countess Ida. Who can say that I had not a right to use any 
stratagem in this matter of love 1 Or, why say love % I wanted the 
wealth of the lady: I loved her quite as much as Magny did; I loved 
her quite as much as yonder blushing virgin of seventeen does who 
marries an old lord of seventy. I followed the practice of the world 
in this ; having resolved that marriage should achieve my fortune. 

I used to make Magny, after his losses, give me a friendly letter 
of acknowledgment to some such effect as this : — 

“My dear Monsieur de Balibari,— I acknowledge to have 
lost to you this day at lansquenet [or picquet, or hazard, as the 


A CANDID PROPOSAL 


125 


case may be ; I was master of him at any game that is played] the 
sum of three hundred ducats, and shall hold it as a great kindness 
on your part if you will allow the debt to stand over until a future 
day, when you shall receive payment from your very grateful humble 
servant.” 

With the jewels he brought me I also took the precaution (but 
this was my uncle’s idea, and a very good one) to have a sort of 
invoice, and a letter begging me to receive the trinkets as so much 
part payment of a sum of money he owed me. 

When I had put him in such a position as I deemed favourable 
to my intentions, I spoke to him candidly, and without any reserve, 
as one man of the world should speak to another. “ I will not, my 
dear fellow,” said I, “pay you so bad a compliment as to suppose 
that you expect we are to go on playing at this rate much longer, 
and that there is any satisfaction to me in possessing more or less 
sheets of paper bearing your signature, and a series of notes of hand 
which I know you never can pay. Don’t look fierce or angry, for 
you know Redmond Barry is your master at the sword : besides, I 
would not be such a fool as to fight a man who owes me so much 
money ; but hear calmly what I have to propose. 

“ You have been very confidential to me during our intimacy of 
the last month ; and I know all your personal affairs completely. 
You have given your word of honour to your grandfather never to 
play upon parole, and you know how you have kept it, and that he 
will disinherit you if he hears the truth. Nay, suppose he dies 
to-morrow, his estate is not sufficient to pay the sum in which you 
are indebted to me ; and, were you to yield me up all, you would 
be a beggar, and a bankrupt too. 

“ Her Highness the Princess Olivia denies you nothing. I shall 
not ask why ; but give me leave to say, I was aware of the fact 
when we began to play together.” 

“ Will you be made baron — chamberlain, with the grand cordon 
of the order?” gasped the poor fellow. “The Princess can do 
anything with the Duke.” 

“ I shall have no objection,” said I, “ to the yellow riband and 
the gold key ; though a gentleman of the house of Ballybarry cares 
little for the titles of the German nobility. But this is not what I 
want. My good Chevalier, you have hid no secrets from me. You 
have told me with what difficulty you have induced the Princess 
Olivia to consent to the project of your union with the Grafinn 
Ida, whom you don’t love. I know whom you love very well.” 

“ Monsieur de Balibari ! ” said the discomfited Chevalier ; he 
could get out no more. The truth began to dawn upon him. 


1 26 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“You begin to understand,’’ continued I. “Her Highness the 
Princess” (I said this in a sarcastic way), “will not be very 
angry, believe me, if you break off your connection with the stupid 
Countess. I am no more an admirer of that lady than you are ; 
but I want her estate. I played you for that estate, and have won 
it ; and I will give you your bills and five thousand ducats on the 
day I am married to it.” 

“ The day I am married to the Countess,” answered the 
Chevalier, thinking to have me, “ I will be able to raise money to 
pay your claim ten times over ” (this was true, for the Countess’s 
property may have been valued at near half a million of our 
money) ; “ and then I will discharge my obligations to you. Mean- 
while, if you annoy me by threats, or insult me again as you have 
done, I will use that influence, which, as you say, I possess, and 
have you turned out of the duchy, as you were out of the Nether- 
lands last year.” 

I rang the bell quite quietly. “ Zamor,” said I to a tall negro 
fellow habited like a Turk, that used to wait upon me, “ when you 
hear the bell ring a second time, you will take this packet to the 
Marshal of the Court, this to his Excellency the General de Magny, 
and this you will place in the hands of one of the equerries of his 
Highness the Hereditary Prince. Wait in the ante-room, and do 
not go with the parcels until I ring again.” 

The black fellow having retired, I turned to Monsieur de Magny 
and said, “ Chevalier, the first packet contains a letter from you to 
me, declaring your solvency, and solemnly promising payment of the 
sums you owe me ; it is accompanied by a document from myself 
(for I expected some resistance on your part), stating that my 
honour has been called in question, and begging that the paper may 
be laid before your august master his Highness. The second packet 
is for your grandfather, enclosing the letter from you in which you 
state yourself to be his heir, and begging for a confirmation of the 
fact. The last parcel, for his Highness the Hereditary Duke,” 
added I, looking most sternly, “contains the Gustavus Adolphus 
emerald, which he gave to his princess, and which you pledged 
to me as a family jewel of your own. Your influence with her 
Highness must be great indeed,” I concluded, “when you could 
extort from her such a jewel as that, and when you could make her, 
in order to pay your play-debts, give up a secret upon which both 
your heads depend.” 

“ Villain ! ” said the Frenchman, quite aghast with fury and 
terror, “would you implicate the Princess?” 

“Monsieur de Magny,” I answered, with a sneer, “no: I will 
say yon stole the jewel.” It was my belief he did, and that the 


THE EMERALD 


127 

unhappy and infatuated Princess was never privy to the theft until 
long after it had been committed. How we came to know the 
history of the emerald is simple enough. As we wanted money 
(for my occupation with Magny caused our bank to be much 
neglected), my uncle had carried Magny’s trinkets to Mannheim to 
pawn. The Jew who lent upon them knew the history of the 
stone in question ; and when he asked how her Highness came to 
part with it, my uncle very cleverly took up the story where he 
found it, said that the Princess was very fond of play, that it was 
not always convenient to her to pay, and hence the emerald had 
come into our hands. He brought it wisely back with him to 

S ; and, as regards the other jewels which the Chevalier pawned 

to us, they were of no particular mark : no inquiries have ever been 
made about them to this day ; and I did not only not know then 
that they came from her Highness, but have only my conjectures 
upon the matter now. 

The unfortunate young gentleman must have had a cowardly 
spirit, when I charged him with the theft, not to make use of my 
two pistols that were lying by chance before him, and to send out 
of the world his accuser and his own ruined self. With such im- 
prudence and miserable recklessness on his part and that of the 
unhappy lady who had forgotten herself for this poor villain, he 
must have known that discovery was inevitable. But it was written 
that this dreadful destiny should be accomplished : instead of ending 
like a man, he now cowered before me quite spirit-broken, and 
flinging himself down on the sofa, burst into tears, calling wildly 
upon all the saints to help him : as if they could be interested in 
the fate of such a wretch as he ! 

I saw that I had nothing to fear from him; and, calling back 
Zamor, my black, said I would myself carry the parcels, which I 
returned to my escritoire ; and, my point being thus gained, I acted, 
as I always do, generously towards him. I said that, for security’s 
sake, I should send the emerald out of the country, but that I 
pledged my honour to restore it to the Duchess, without any 
pecuniary consideration, on the day when she should procure the 
severeign’s consent to my union with the Countess Ida. 

This will explain pretty clearly, I flatter myself, the game I 
was playing; and, though some rigid moralist may object to its 
propriety, I say that anything is fair in love, and that men so poor 
as myself can’t afford to be squeamish about their means of getting 
on in life. The great and rich are welcomed, smiling, up the grand 
staircase of the world ; the poor but aspiring must clamber up the 
wall, or push and struggle up the back stair, or, pardi , crawl through 
any of the conduits of the house, never mind how foul and narrow, 


128 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

that lead to the top. The unambitious sluggard pretends that the 
eminence is not worth attaining, declines altogether the struggle, 
and calls himself a philosopher. I say he is a poor-spirited coward. 
What is life good for but for honour 1 and that is so indispensable, 
that we should attain it anyhow. 

The manner to be adopted for Magny’s retreat was proposed 
by myself, and was arranged so as to consult the feelings of delicacy 
of both parties. I made Magny take the Countess Ida aside, and 
say to her, “ Madam, though I have never declared myself your 
admirer, you and the Court have had sufficient proof of my regard 
for you ; and my demand would, I know, have been backed by his 
Highness, your august guardian. I know the Duke’s gracious wish 
is, that my attentions should be received favourably ; but, as time 
has not appeared to alter your attachment elsewhere, and as I have 
too much spirit to force a lady of your name and rank to be united 
to me against your will, the best plan is, that I should make you, 
for form’s sake, a proposal ^authorised by his Highness : that you 
should reply, as I am sorry to think your heart dictates to you, in 
the negative : on which I also will formally withdraw from my 
pursuit of you, stating that, after a refusal, nothing, not even the 
Duke’s desire, should induce me to persist in my suit.” 

The Countess Ida almost wept at hearing these words from 
Monsieur de Magny, and tears came into her eyes, he said, as she 
took his hand for the first time, and thanked him for the delicacy 
of the proposal. She little knew that the Frenchman was incap- 
able of that sort of delicacy, and that the graceful manner in which 
he withdrew his addresses was of my invention. 

As soon as he withdrew, it became my business to step forward ; 
but cautiously and gently, so as not to alarm the lady, and yet 
firmly, so as to convince her of the hopelessness of her design of unit- 
ing herself with her shabby lover, the sub-lieutenant. The Princess 
Olivia was good enough to perform this necessary part of the plan 
in my favour, and solemnly to warn the Countess Ida, that though 
Monsieur de Magny had retired from paying his addresses, his 
Highness her guardian would still marry her as he thought fit, and 
that she must for ever forget her out-at-elbowed adorer. In fact, 
I can’t conceive how such a shabby rogue as that could ever have 
had the audacity to propose for her : his birth was certainly good ; 
but what other qualifications had he ? 

When the Chevalier de Magny withdrew, numbers of other 
suitors, you may be sure, presented themselves ; and amongst these 
your very humble servant, the cadet of Ballybarry. There was a 
carrousel , or tournament, held at this period, in imitation of the 


I PLAY A WINNING GAME 129 

antique meetings of chivalry, in which the chevaliers tilted at each 
other, or at the ring ; and on this occasion I was habited in a 
splendid Roman dress (viz. : a silver helmet, a flowing periwig, 
a cuirass of gilt leather richly embroidered, a light blue velvet 
mantle, and crimson morocco half-boots) ; and in this habit I rode 
my bay horse Brian, carried off three rings, and won the prize 
over all the Duke’s gentry, and the nobility of surrounding countries 
who had come to the show. A wreath of gilded laurel was to 
be the prize of the victor, and it was to be awarded by the lady he 
selected. So I rode up to the gallery where the Countess Ida was 
seated behind the Hereditary Princess, and, calling her name loudly, 
yet gracefully, begged to be allowed to be crowned by her, and 
thus proclaimed myself to the face of all Germany, as it were, her 
suitor. She turned very pale, and the Princess red, I observed ; 
but the Countess Ida ended by crowning me : after which, putting 
spurs into my horse, I galloped round the ring, saluting his High- 
ness the Duke at the opposite end, and performing the most 
wonderful exercises with my bay. 

My success did not, as you may imagine, increase my popularity 
with the young gentry. They called me adventurer, bully, dice- 
loader, impostor, and a hundred pretty names; but I had a way 
of silencing these gentry. I took the Count de Schmetterling, the 
richest and bravest of the young men who seemed to have a hanker- 
ing for the Countess Ida, and publicly insulted him at the ridotto ; 
flinging my cards into his face. The next day I rode thirty-five 

miles into the territory of the Elector of B , and met Monsieur 

de Schmetterling, and passed my sword twice through his body; 
then rode back with my second, the Chevalier de Magny, and pre- 
sented myself at the Duchess’s whist that evening. Magny was 
very unwilling to accompany me at first ; but I insisted upon his 
support, and that he should countenance my quarrel. Directly after 
paying my homage to her Highness, I went up to the Countess 
Ida, and made her a marked and low obeisance, gazing at her 
steadily in the face until she grew crimson red ; and then staring 
round at every man who formed her circle, until, ma foi , I stared 
them all away. I instructed Magny to say, everywhere, that the 
Countess was madly in love with me; which commission, along 
with many others of mine, the poor devil was obliged to perform. 
He made rather a sotte figure , as the French say, acting the pioneer 
for me, praising me everywhere, accompanying me always ! he who 
had been the pink of the mode until my arrival ; he who thought 
his pedigree of beggarly Barons of Magny was superior to the race 
of great Irish kings from which I descended ; who had sneered at 
me a hundred times as a spadassin, a deserter, and had called me a 
4 I 


130 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

vulgar Irish upstart. Now I had my revenge of the gentleman, 
and took it too. 

I used to call him, in the choicest societies, by his Christian 
name of Maxime. I would say, “ Bon jour, Maxime ; comment 
vas -tu ? ” in the Princess’s hearing, and could see him bite his lips 
for fury and vexation. But I had him under my thumb, and her 
Highness too — I, poor private of Billow’s regiment. And this 
is a proof of what genius and perseverance can do, and should 
act as a warning to great people never to have secrets — if they 
can help it. 

I knew the Princess hated me ; but what did I care ? She knew 
I knew all : and indeed, I believe, so strong was her prejudice 
against me, that she thought I was an indelicate villain, capable of 
betraying a lady, which I would scorn to do ; so that she trembled 
before me as a child before its schoolmaster. She would, in her 
woman’s way, too, make all sorts of jokes and sneers at me on recep- 
tion days; ask about my palace in Ireland, and the kings my an- 
cestors, and whether, when I was a private in Billow’s foot, my 
royal relatives had interposed to rescue me, and whether the cane 
was smartly administered there, — anything to mortify me. But, 
Heaven bless you ! I can make allowances for people, and used 
to laugh in her face. Whilst her jibes and jeers were continuing, 
it was my pleasure to look at poor Magny and see how he bore them. 
The poor devil was trembling lest I should break out under the 
Princess’s sarcasm and tell all ; but my revenge was, when the 
Princess attacked me, to say something bitter to him , — to pass it 
on, as boys do at school. And that was the thing which used to 
make her Highness feel. She would wince just as much when I 
attacked Magny as if I had been saying anything rude to herself. 
And, though she hated me, she used to beg my pardon in private ; 
and though her pride would often get the better of her, yet her 
prudence obliged this magnificent princess to humble herself to the 
poor penniless Irish boy. 

As soon as Magny had formally withdrawn from the Countess 
Ida, the Princess took the young lady into favour again, and pre- 
tended to be very fond of her. To do them justice, I don’t know 
which of the two disliked me most, — the Princess, who was all 
eagerness, and fire, and coquetry ; or the Countess, who was all 
state and splendour. The latter, especially, pretended to be dis- 
gusted by me : and yet, after all, I have pleased her betters ; was 
once one of the handsomest men in Europe, and would defy any 
heyduc of the Court to measure a chest or a leg with me : but I 
did not care for any of her silly prejudices, and determined to 
win her and wear her in spite of herself. Was it on account of 


I AM HATED BY THE PRINCESS 


131 


her personal charms or qualities'? No. She was quite white, 
thin, short-sighted, tall, and awkward, and my taste is quite the 
contrary ; and as for her mind, no wonder that a poor creature 
who had a hankering after a wretched ragged ensign could never 
appreciate me. It was her estate I made love to ; as for her- 
self, it would be a reflection on my taste as a man of fashion to 
own that I liked her. 


CHAPTER XI 

IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES AGAINST BARRY 
Y hopes of obtaining the hand of one of the richest heiresses 



in Germany were now, as far as all human probability went, 


^ * and as far as my own merits and prudence could secure 

my fortune, pretty certain of completion. I was admitted whenever 
I presented myself at the Princess’s apartments, and had as fre- 
quent opportunities as I desired of seeing the Countess Ida there. 
I cannot say that she received me with any particular favour ; the 
silly young creature’s affections were, as I have said, engaged ignobly 
elsewhere ; and, however captivating my own person and manners 
may have been, it was not to be expected that she should all of 
a sudden forget her lover for the sake of the young Irish gentleman 
who was paying his addresses to her. But such little rebuffs as I 
got were far from discouraging me. I had very powerful friends, 
who were to aid me in my undertaking ; and knew that, sooner or 
later, the victory must be mine. In fact, I only waited my time to 
press my suit. Who could tell the dreadful stroke of fortune which 
was impending over my illustrious protectress, and which was to in- 
volve me partially in her ruin 1 

All things seemed for a while quite prosperous to my wishes ; 
and in spite of the Countess Ida’s disinclination, it was much easier 
to bring her to her senses than, perhaps, may be supposed in a silly 
constitutional country like England, where people are not brought 
up with those wholesome sentiments of obedience to Royalty which 
were customary in Europe at the time when I was a young man. 

I have stated how, through Magny, I had the Princess, as it 
were, at my feet. Her Highness had only to press the match upon 
the old Duke, over whom her influence was unbounded, and to 
secure the goodwill of the Countess of Liliengarten (which was the 
romantic title of his Highness’s morganatic spouse), and the easy old 
man would give an order for the marriage : which his ward would 
perforce obey. Madame de Liliengarten was, too, from her position, 
extremely anxious to oblige the Princess Olivia; who might be called 
upon any day to occupy the throne. The old Duke was tottering, 
apoplectic, and exceedingly fond of good living. When he was gone, 


MY MATRIMONIAL PROSPECTS 133 

his relict would find the patronage of the Duchess Olivia most neces- 
sary to her. Hence there was a close mutual understanding between 
the two ladies ; and the world said that the Hereditary Princess was 
already indebted to the favourite for help on various occasions. Her 
Highness had obtained, through the Countess, several large grants of 
money for the payment of her multifarious debts ; and she was now 
good enough to exert her gracious influence over Madame de Lilien- 
garten in order to obtain for me the object so near my heart. It is 
not to be supposed that my end was to be obtained without continual 
unwillingness and refusals on Magny’s part ; but I pushed my point 
resolutely, and had means in my hands of overcoming the stubborn- 
ness of that feeble young gentleman. Also, I may say, without 
vanity, that if the high and mighty Princess detested me, the 
Countess (though she was of extremely low origin, it is said) had 
better taste and admired me. She often did us the honour to go 
partners with us in one of our faro-banks, and declared that I was 
the handsomest man in the duchy. All I was required to prove 
was my nobility, and I got at Vienna such a pedigree as would 
satisfy the most greedy in that way. In fact, what had a man 
descended from the Barrys and the Bradys to fear before any von in 
Germany? By way of making assurance doubly sure, I promised 
Madame de Liliengarten ten thousand louis on the day of my 
marriage, and she knew that as a playman I had never failed in my 
word : and I vow, that had I paid fifty per cent, for it, I would 
have got the money. 

Thus by my talents, honesty, and acuteness, I had, considering 
I was a poor patronless outcast, raised for myself very powerful 
protectors. Even his Highness the Duke Victor was favourably 
inclined to me ; for, his favourite charger falling ill of the staggers, 
I gave him a ball such as my uncle Brady used to administer, and 
cured the horse; after which his Highness was pleased to notice 
me frequently. He invited me to his hunting and shooting parties, 
where I showed myself to be a good sportsman ; and once or twice 
he condescended to talk to me about my prospects in life, lamenting 
that I had taken to gambling, and that I had not adopted a more 
regular means of advancement. “ Sir,” said I, “if you will allow 
me to speak frankly to your Highness, play with me is only a 
means to an end. Where should I have been without it? A 
private still in King Frederick’s grenadiers. I come of a race 
which gave princes to my country ; but persecutions have deprived 
them of their vast possessions. My uncle’s adherence to his ancient 
faith drove him from our country. I too resolved to seek advance- 
ment in the military service; but the insolence and ill-treatment 
which I received at the hands of the English were not bearable by 


134 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

a high-born gentleman, and I fled their service. It was only to fall 
into another bondage to all appearance still more hopeless; when 
my good star sent a preserver to me in my uncle, and my spirit 
and gallantry enabled me to take advantage of the means of escape 
afforded me. Since then we have lived, I do not disguise it, by 
play ; but who can say I have done him a wrong? Yet, if I could 
find myself in an honourable post, and with an assured maintenance, 
I would never, except for amusement, such as every gentleman must 
have, touch a card again. I beseech your Highness to inquire of 
your resident at Berlin if I did not on every occasion act as a gallant 
soldier. I feel that I have talents of a higher order, and should be 
proud to have occasion to exert them ; if, as I do not doubt, my 
fortune shall bring them into play.” 

The candour of this statement struck his Highness greatly, and 
impressed him in my favour, and he was pleased to say that he 
believed me, and would be glad to stand my friend. 

Having thus the two Dukes, the Duchess, and the reigning 
favourite enlisted on my side, the chances certainly were that I 
should carry off the great prize ; and I ought, according to all 
common calculations, to have been a Prince of the Empire at this 
present writing, but that my ill luck pursued me in a matter in 
which I was not the least to blame, — the unhappy Duchess’s 
attachment to the weak, silly, cowardly Frenchman. The display 
of this love was painful to witness, as its end was frightful to think 
of. The Princess made no disguise of it. If Magny spoke a word 
to a lady of her household, she would be jealous, and attack with 
all the fury of her tongue the unlucky offender. She would send 
him a half-dozen of notes in the day : at his arrival to join her 
circle or the courts which she held, she would brighten up, so that 
all might perceive. It was a wonder that her husband had not 
long ere this been made aware of her faithlessness ; but the Prince 
Victor was himself of so high and stern a nature that he could not 
believe in her stooping so far from her rank as to forget her virtue : 
and I have heard say, that when hints were given to him of the 
evident partiality which the Princess showed for the equerry, his 
answer was a stern command never more to be troubled on the 
subject. “The Princess is light-minded,” he said; “she was 
brought up at a frivolous Court; but her folly goes not beyond 
coquetry: crime is impossible; she has her birth, and my name, 
and her children, to defend her.” And he would ride off to his 
military inspections and be absent for weeks, or retire to his suite 
of apartments, and remain closeted there whole days ; only appear 
ing to make a bow at her Highness’s lev4e, or to give her his hand 
at the Court galas, where ceremony required that he should appear. 


THE DUCHESS OLIVIA 


135 


He was a man of vulgar tastes, and I have seen him in the private 
garden, with his great ungainly figure, running races, or playing at 
ball with his little son and daughter, whom he would find a dozen 
pretexts daily for visiting. The serene children were brought to 
their mother every morning at her toilette ; but she received them 
very indifferently : except on one occasion, when the young Duke 
Ludwig got his little uniform as colonel of hussars, being presented 
with a regiment by his godfather the Emperor Leopold. Then, for 
a day or two, the Duchess Olivia was charmed with the little boy ; 
but she grew tired of him speedily, as a child does of a toy. I 
remember one day, in the morning circle, some of the Princess’s 
rouge came off on the arm of her son’s little white military jacket ; 
on which she slapped the poor child’s face, and sent him sobbing 
away. Oh, the woes that have been worked by women in this 
world ! the misery into which men have lightly stepped with smiling 
faces; often not even with the excuse of passion, but from mere 
foppery, vanity, and bravado ! Men play with these dreadful two- 
edged tools, as if no harm could come to them. I, who have seen 
more of life than most men, if I had a son, would go on my knees 
to him and beg him to avoid woman, who is worse than poison. 
Once intrigue, and your whole life is endangered : you never know 
when the evil may fall upon you ; and the woe of whole families, 
and the ruin of innocent people perfectly dear to you, may be caused 
by a moment of your folly. 

When I saw how entirely lost the unlucky Monsieur de Magny 
seemed to be, in spite of all the claims I had against him, I urged 
him to fly. He had rooms in the palace, in the garrets over the 
Princess’s quarters (the building was a huge one, and accommodated 
almost a city of noble retainers of the family) ; but the infatuated 
young fool would not budge, although he had not even the excuse 
of love for staying. “How she squints,” he would say of the 
Princess, “ and how crooked she is ! She thinks no one can perceive 
her deformity. She writes me verses out of Gresset or Cr^billon, 
and fancies I believe them to be original. Bah ! they are no more 
her own than her hair is ! ” It was in this way that the wretched 
lad was dancing over the ruin that was yawning under him. I do 
believe that his chief pleasure in making love to the Princess was, 
that he might write about his victories to his friends of the petites 
maisons at Paris, where he longed to be considered as a wit and a 
vainqueur de dames. 

Seeing the young man’s recklessness, and the danger of his 
position, I became very anxious that my little scheme should be 
brought to a satisfactory end, and pressed him warmly on the 
matter. 


136 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

My solicitations with him were, I need not say, from the nature 
of the connection between us, generally pretty successful ; and, in 
fact, the poor fellow could refuse me nothing: as I used often 
laughingly to say to him, very little to his liking. But I used 
more than threats, or the legitimate influence I had over him. I 
used delicacy and generosity ; as a proof of which, I may mention 
that I promised to give back to the Princess the family emerald, 
which I mentioned in the last chapter that I had won from her 
unprincipled admirer at play. 

This was done by my uncle’s consent, and was one of the usual 
acts of prudence and foresight which distinguish that clever man. 
“ Press the matter now, Redmond, my boy,” he would urge. “ This 
affair between her Highness and Magny must end ill for both of 
them, and that soon ; and where will be your chance to win the 
Countess then? Now is your time ! win her and wear her before 
the month is over, and we will give up the punting business, and 
go live like noblemen at our castle in Swabia. Get rid of that 
emerald, too,” he added : “ should an accident happen, it will be an 
ugly deposit found in our hand.” This it was that made me agree 
to forego the possession of the trinket; which, I must confess, I 
was loth to part with. It was lucky for us both that I did : as 
you shall presently hear. 

Meanwhile, then, I urged Magny : I myself spoke strongly to 
the Countess of Liliengarten, who promised formally to back my 
claim with his Highness the reigning Duke; and Monsieur de 
Magny was instructed to induce the Princess Olivia to make a 
similar application to the old sovereign in my behalf. It was done. 
The two ladies urged the Prince; his Highness (at a supper of 
oysters and champagne) was brought to consent, and her Highness 
the Hereditary Princess did me the honour of notifying personally 
to the Countess Ida that it was the Prince’s will that she should 
marry the young Irish nobleman, the Chevalier Redmond de Bali- 
bari. The notification was made in my presence ; and though the 
young Countess said “ Never ! ” and fell down in a swoon at her 
lady’s feet, I was, you may be sure, entirely unconcerned at this 
little display of mawkish sensibility, and felt, indeed, now that my 
prize was secure. 

That evening I gave the Chevalier de Magny the emerald, which 
he promised to restore to the Princess ; and now the only difficulty 
in my way lay with the Hereditary Prince, of whom his father, his 
wife, and the favourite, were alike afraid. He might not be disposed 
to allow the richest heiress in his duchy to be carried off by a noble, 
though not a wealthy foreigner. Time was necessary in order to 
break the matter to Prince Victor. The Princess must find him at 


I FEEL SECURE OF MY PRIZE 


137 


some moment of good-humour. He had days of infatuation still, 
when he could refuse his wife nothing ; and our plan was to wait for 
one of these, or for any other chance which might occur. 

But it was destined that the Princess should never see her 
husband at her feet, as often as he had been. Fate was preparing 
a terrible ending to her follies, and my own hope. In spite of his 
solemn promises to me, Magny never restored the emerald to the 
Princess Olivia. 

He had heard, in casual intercourse with me, that my uncle and 
I had been beholden to Mr. Moses Lowe, the banker of Heidelberg, 
who had given us a good price for our valuables ; and the infatuated 
young man took a pretext to go thither, and offered the jewel for 
pawn. Moses Lowe recognised the emerald at once, gave Magny 
the sum the latter demanded, which the Chevalier lost presently at 
play : never, you may be sure, acquainting us with the means by 
which he had made himself master of so much capital. We, for our 
parts, supposed that he had been supplied by his usual banker, the 
Princess : and many rouleaux of his gold pieces found their way 
into our treasury, when at the Court galas, at our own lodgings, 
or at the apartments of Madame de Liliengarten (who on these 
occasions did us the honour to go halves with us) we held our bank 
of faro. 

Thus Magny’s money was very soon gone. But though the Jew 
held his jewel, of thrice the value no doubt of the sums he had lent 
upon it, that was not all the profit which he intended to have from 
his unhappy creditor ; over whom he began speedily to exercise his 

authority. His Hebrew connections at X , money-brokers, 

bankers, horse-dealers, about the Court there, must have told their 
Heidelberg brother what Magny’s relations with the Princess were ; 
and the rascal determined to take advantage of these, and to press 
to the utmost both victims. My uncle and I were, meanwhile, 
swimming upon the high tide of fortune, prospering with our cards, 
and with the still greater matrimonial game which we were playing ; 
and we were quite unaware of the mine under our feet. 

Before a month was passed, the Jew began to pester Magny. 

He presented himself at X , and asked for further interest — 

hush-money ; otherwise he must sell the emerald. Magny got 
money for him ; the Princess again befriended her dastardly lover. 
The success of the first demand only rendered the second more 
exorbitant. I know not how much money was extorted and paid 
on this unlucky emerald : but it was the cause of the ruin of us all. 

One night we were keeping our table as usual at the Countess 
of Liliengarten’s, and Magny being in cash somehow, kept drawing 


138 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

out rouleau after rouleau, and playing with his common ill success. 
In the middle of the play a note was brought in to him, which he 
read, and turned very pale on perusing; but the luck was against 
him, and looking up rather anxiously at the clock, he waited for a 
few more turns of the cards, when having, I suppose, lost his last 
rouleau, he got up with a wild oath that scared some of the polite 
company assembled, and left the room. A great trampling of horses 
was heard without; but we were too much engaged with our 
business to heed the noise, and continued our play. 

Presently some one came into the play-room and said to the 
Countess, “ Here is a strange story ! A Jew has been murdered in 
the Kaiserwald. Magny was arrested when he went out of the 
room.” All the party broke up on hearing this strange news, and 
we shut up our bank for the night. Magny had been sitting by me 
during the play (my uncle dealt and I paid and took the money), 
and, looking under the chair, there was a crumpled paper, which I 
took up and read. It was that which had been delivered to him, 
and ran thus : — 

“ If you have done it , take the orderly's horse who brings this. 
It is the best of my stable. There are a hundred louis in each 
holster , and the pistols are loaded. Either course lies open to 
you ; you know what I mean. In a quarter of an hour I shall 
know our fate — whether I am to be dishonoured and survive you , 
whether you are guilty and a coward , or whether you are still 
worthy of the name of M.” 

This was in the handwriting of the old General de Magny ; and my 
uncle and I, as we walked home at night, having made and divided 
with the Countess Liliengarten no inconsiderable profits that night, 
felt our triumphs greatly dashed by the perusal of the letter. 
“ Has Magny,” we asked, “robbed the Jew, or has his intrigue 
been discovered ? ” In either case, my claims on the Countess Ida 
were likely to meet with serious drawbacks ; and I began to feel 
that my “ great card ” was played and perhaps lost. 

W ell, it was lost : though I say, to this day, it was well and 
gallantly played. After supper (which we never for fear of conse- 
quences took during play) I became so agitated in my mind as to 
what was occurring that I determined to sally out about midnight 
into the town, and inquire what was the real motive of Magny’s 
apprehension. A sentry was at the door, and signified to me°that 
I and my uncle were under arrest. 

We were left in our quarters for six weeks, so closely watched 
that escape was impossible, had we desired it; but, as innocent 


I PLAY MY “GREAT CARD 


139 


men, we had nothing to fear. Our course of life was open to all, 
and we desired and courted inquiry. Great and tragical events 
happened during those six weeks ; of which, though we heard the 
outline, as all Europe did, when we were released from our captivity, 
we were yet far from understanding all the particulars, which were 
not much known to me for many years after. Here they are, as 
they were told me by the lady, who of all the world perhaps was 
most likely to know them. But the narrative had best form the 
contents of another chapter. 


CHAPTER XII 


CONTAINS THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE PRINCESS 
OF X 

M ORE than twenty years after the events described in the past 
chapters, I was walking with my Lady Lyndon in the 
Rotunda at Ranelagh. It was in the year 1790; the 
emigration from France had already commenced, the old counts and 
marquises were thronging to our shores : not starving and miserable, 
as one saw them a few years afterwards, but unmolested as yet, and 
bringing with them some token of their national splendour. I was 
walking with Lady Lyndon, who, proverbially jealous and always 
anxious to annoy me, spied out a foreign lady who was evidently 
remarking me, and of course asked who was the hideous fat Dutch- 
woman who was leering at me so 1 I knew her not in the least. I 
felt I had seen the lady’s face somewhere (it was now, as my wife 
said, enormously fat and bloated) ; but I did not recognise in the 
bearer of that face one who had been among the most beautiful 
women in Germany in her day. 

It was no other than Madame de Liliengarten, the mistress, or 

as some said the morganatic wife, of the old Duke of X , Duke 

Victor’s father. She had left X a few months after the elder 

Duke’s demise, had gone to Paris, as I heard, w T here some unprin- 
cipled adventurer had married her for her money; but, however, had 
always retained her quasi-royal title, and pretended, amidst the great 
laughter of the Parisians who frequented her house, to the honours 
and ceremonial of a sovereign’s widow. She had a throne erected 
in her state-room, and was styled by her servants and those who 
wished to pay court to her, or borrow money from her, “ Altesse.” 
Report said she drank rather copiously — certainly her face bore 
every mark of that habit, and had lost the rosy, frank, good- 
humoured beauty which had charmed the sovereign who had 
ennobled her. 

Although she did not address me in the circle at Ranelagh, I 
was at this period as well known as the Prince of Wales, and she 
had no difficulty in finding my house in Berkeley Square ; whither 
a note was next morning despatched to me. “An old friend of 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 


141 


Monsieur de Balibari,” it stated (in extremely bad French), “is 
anxious to see the Chevalier again and to talk over old happy times. 
Rosina de Liliengarten (can it be that Redmond Balibari has for- 
gotten her 1) will be at her house in Leicester Fields all the morning, 
looking for one who would never have passed her by twenty years 
ago.” 

Rosina of Liliengarten it was, indeed — such a full-blown Rosina 
I have seldom seen. I found her in a decent first-floor in Leicester 
Fields (the poor soul fell much lower afterwards) drinking tea, 
which had somehow a very strong smell of brandy in it ; and after 
salutations, which would be more tedious to recount than they were 
to perform, and after further straggling conversation, she gave me 

briefly the following narrative of the events in X , which I may 

well entitle the “ Princess’s Tragedy.” 

“You remember Monsieur de Geldern, the Police Minister. 
He was of Dutch extraction, and, what is more, of a family of Dutch 
Jews. Although everybody was aware of this blot in his scutcheon, 
he was mortally angry if ever his origin was suspected ; and made 
up for his fathers’ errors by outrageous professions of religion, and 
the most austere practices of devotion. He visited church every 
morning, confessed once a week, and hated Jews and Protestants 
as much as an inquisitor could do. He never lost an opportunity of 
proving his sincerity, by persecuting one or the other whenever 
occasion fell in his way. 

“ He hated the Princess mortally ; for her Highness in some 
whim had insulted him with his origin, caused pork to be removed 
from before him at table, or injured him in some such silly way ; and 
he had a violent animosity to the old Baron de Magny, both in 
his capacity of Protestant, and because the latter in some haughty 
mood had publicly turned his back upon him as a sharper and 
a spy. Perpetual quarrels were taking place between them in 
council ; where it was only the presence of his august masters that 
restrained the Baron from publicly and frequently expressing the 
contempt which he felt for the officer of police. 

“ Thus Geldern had hatred as one reason for ruining the Princess, 
and it is my belief he had a stronger motive still — interest. You 
remember whom the Duke married, after the death of his first 

wife ? — a princess of the house of F . Geldern built his fine 

palace two years after, and, as I feel convinced, with the money 

which was paid to him by the F family for forwarding the 

match. 

“To go to Prince Victor, and report to his Highness a case 
which everybody knew, was not by any means Geldern’s desire. 


142 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

He knew the man would be ruined for ever in the Prince’s estima- 
tion who carried him intelligence so disastrous. His aim, therefore, 
was, to leave the matter to explain itself to his Highness ; and, 
when the time was ripe, he cast about for a means of carrying his 
point. He had spies in the houses of the elder and younger Magny ; 
but this you know, of course, frbm your experience of Continental 
customs. We had all spies over each other. Your black (Zamor, 
I think, was his name) used to give me reports every morning; 
and I used to entertain the dear old Duke with stories of you and 
your uncle practising piquet and dice in the morning, and with 
your quarrels and intrigues. We levied similar contributions on 

everybody in X , to amuse the dear old man. Monsieur de 

Magny’s valet used to report both to me and Monsieur de Geldern. 

“ I knew of the fact of the emerald being in pawn ; and it 
was out of my exchequer that the poor Princess drew the funds 
which were spent upon the odious Lowe, and the still more worth- 
less young Chevalier. How the Princess could trust the latter as 
she persisted in doing, is beyond my comprehension ; but there is no 
infatuation like that of a woman in love : and you will remark, 
my dear Monsieur de Balibari, that our sex generally fix upon a 
bad man.” 

“Not always, madam,” I interposed; “your humble servant 
has created many such attachments.” 

“I do not see that that affects the truth of the proposition,” 
said the old lady drily, and continued her narrative. “ The Jew 
who held the emerald had had many dealings with the Princess, 
and at last was offered a bribe of such magnitude, that he deter- 
mined to give up the pledge. He committed the inconceivable 

imprudence of bringing the emerald with him to X , and waited 

on Magny, who was provided by the Princess with money to redeem 
the pledge, and was actually ready to pay it. 

“ Their interview took place in Magny’s own apartments, when 
his valet overheard every word of their conversation. The young 
man, who was always utterly careless of money when it was in his 
possession, was so easy in offering it, that Lowe rose in his demands, 
and had the conscience to ask double the sum for which he had 
previously stipulated. 

“ At this the Chevalier lost all patience, fell on the wretch and 
was for killing him ; when the opportune valet rushed in and saved 
him. The man had heard every word of the conversation between 
the disputants, and the Jew ran flying with terror into his arms ; 
and Magny, a quick and passionate, but not a violent man, bade the 
servant lead the villain downstairs, and thought no more of him. 

“ Perhaps he was not sorry to be rid of him, and to have in 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 


143 


his possession a large sum of money, four thousand ducats, with 
which he could tempt fortune once more ; as you know he did at 
your table that night.” 

“ Your Ladyship went halves, madam,” said I ; “ and you 
know how little I was the better for my winnings.” 

“ The man conducted the trembling Israelite out of the palace, 
and no sooner had seen him lodged at the house of one of his brethren, 
where he was accustomed to put up, than he went away to the 
office of his Excellency the Minister of Police, and narrated every 
word of the conversation which had taken place between the Jew 
and his master. 

“ Geldern expressed the greatest satisfaction at his spy’s prudence 
and fidelity. He gave him a purse of twenty ducats, and promised 
to provide for him handsomely ; as great men do sometimes promise 
to reward their instruments ; but you, Monsieur de Balibari, know 
how seldom those promises are kept. ‘ Now, go and find out,’ said 
Monsieur de Geldern, ‘ at what time the Israelite proposes to return 
home again, or whether he will repent and take the money.’ The 
man went on this errand. Meanwhile, to make matters sure, 
Geldern arranged a play-party at my house, inviting you thither 
with your bank, as you may remember ; and finding means, at the 
same time, to let Maxime de Magny know that there was to be 
faro at Madame de Liliengarten’s. It was an invitation the poor 
fellow never neglected.” 

I remembered the facts, and listened on, amazed at the artifice 
of the infernal Minister of Police. 

“ The spy came back from his message to Lowe, and stated 
that he had made 'inquiries among the servants of the house where 
the Heidelberg banker lodged, and that it was the latter’s intention 

to leave X that afternoon. He travelled by himself, riding 

an old horse, exceedingly humbly attired after the mannner of his 
people. 

“ £ Johann,’ said the Minister, clapping the pleased spy upon the 
shoulder, ‘ I am more and more pleased with you. I have been 
thinking, since you left me, of your intelligence, and the faithful 
manner in which you have served me; and shall soon find an 
occasion to place you according to your merits. Which way does 
this Israelitish scoundrel take 1 ’ 

‘“He goes to R to-night.’ 

“ ‘ And must pass by the Kaiserwald. Are you a man of 
courage, Johann Kernerl’ 

“ ‘ Will your Excellency try me 1 ’ said the man, his eyes 
glittering : ‘ I served through the Seven Years’ War, and was never 
known to fail there.’ 


144 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Now, listen. The emerald must be taken from that Jew: 
in the very keeping it the scoundrel has committed high treason. 
To the man who brings me that emerald I swear I will give five 
hundred louis. You understand why it is necessary that it should 
be restored to her Highness. I need say no more.’ 

“‘You shall have it to-night, sir,’ said the man. ‘Of course 
your Excellency will hold me harmless in case of accident.’ 

“ ‘ Psha ! ’ answered the Minister ; ‘ I will pay you half the 
money beforehand ; such is my confidence in you. Accident’s im- 
possible if you take your measures properly. There are four leagues 
of wood ; the Jew rides slowly. It will be night before he can 
reach, let us say, the old Powder-Mill in the wood. What’s to 
prevent you from putting a rope across the road, and dealing with 
him there ] Be back with me this evening at supper. If you meet 
any of the patrol, say “ Foxes are loose,” — that’s the word for to- 
night. They will let you pass them without questions.’ 

“ The man went off quite charmed with his commission ; and 
when Magny was losing his money at our faro-table, his servant 
waylaid the Jew at the spot named the Powder-Mill, in the Kaiser- 
wald. The Jew’s horse stumbled over a rope which had been placed 
across the road ; and, as the rider fell groaning to the ground, 
Johann Kerner rushed out on him, masked, and pistol in hand, and 
demanded his money. He had no wish to kill the Jew, I believe, 
unless his resistance should render extreme measures necessary. 

“Nor did he commit any such murder; for, as the yelling Jew 
roared for mercy, and his assailant menaced him with a pistol, a 
squad of patrol came up, and laid hold of the robber and the 
wounded man. 

“Kerner swore an oath. ‘You have come too soon,’ said he to 
the sergeant of the police. ‘ Foxes are loose.' ‘Some are caught,’ 
said the sergeant, quite unconcerned ; and bound the fellow’s hands 
with the rope which he had stretched across the road to entrap the 
Jew. He was placed behind a policeman on a horse ; Lowe was 
similarly accommodated, and the party thus came back into the 
town as the night fell. 

“They were taken forthwith to the police quarter ; and, as the 
chief happened to be there, they were examined by his Excellency 
in person. Both were rigorously searched; the Jew’s papers and 
cases taken from him : the jewel was found in a private pocket. 
As for the spy, the Minister, looking at him angrily, said, ‘ Why, 
this is the servant of the Chevalier de Magny, one of her Highness’s 
equerries ! ’ and, without hearing a word in exculpation from the 
poor frightened wretch, ordered him into close confinement. 

“ Calling for his horse, he then rode to the Prince’s apartments 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 


145 


at the palace, and asked for an instant audience. When admitted, 
he produced the emerald. ‘ This jewel,’ said he, ‘ has been found 
on the person of a Heidelberg Jew, who has been here repeatedly of 
late, and has had many dealings with her Highness’s equerry, the 
Chevalier de Magny. This afternoon the Chevalier’s servant came 
from his master’s lodgings, accompanied by the Hebrew ; was heard 
to make inquiries as to the route the man intended to take on his 
way homewards; followed him, or preceded him rather, and was 
found in the act of rifling his victim by my police in the Kaiserwald. 
The man will confess nothing ; but, on being searched, a large sum 
in gold was found on his person ; and though it is with the utmost 
pain that I can bring myself to entertain such an opinion, and to 
implicate a gentleman of the character and name of Monsieur de 
Magny, I do submit that our duty is to have the Chevalier examined 
relative to the affair. As Monsieur de Magny is in her Highness’s 
private service, and in her confidence I have heard, I would not 
venture to apprehend him without your Highness’s permission.’ 

“ The Prince’s master of the horse, a friend of the old Baron de 
Magny, who was present at the interview, no sooner heard the 
strange intelligence, than he hastened away to the old General with 
the dreadful news of his grandson’s supposed crime. Perhaps his 
Highness himself was not unwilling that his old friend and tutor in 
arms should have the chance of saving his family from disgrace ; at 
all events, Monsieur de Hengst, the Master of the Horse, was per- 
mitted to go off to the Baron undisturbed, and break to him the 
intelligence of the accusation pending over the unfortunate Chevalier. 

“ It is possible that he expected some such dreadful catastrophe, 
for, after hearing Hengst’s narrative (as the latter afterwards told 
me), he only said, ‘ Heaven’s will be done ! ’ for some time refused 
to stir a step in the matter, and then only by the solicitation of his 
friend was induced to write the letter which Maxime de Magny 
received at our play-table. 

“Whilst he was there, squandering the Princess’s money, a 
police visit was paid to his apartments, and a hundred proofs, not 
of his guilt with respect to the robbery, but of his guilty connection 
with the Princess, were discovered there, — tokens of her giving, 
passionate letters from her, copies of his own correspondence to his 
young friends at Paris, — all of which the Police Minister perused, 
and carefully put together under seal for his Highness, Prince 
Victor. I have no doubt he perused them, for, on delivering them 
to the Hereditary Prince, Geldern said that, in obedience to his 
Highness's orders , he had collected the Chevalier’s papers ; but he 
need not say that, on his honour, he (Geldern) himself had never 
examined the documents. His difference with Messieurs de Magny 


146 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ, 

was known ; he begged his Highness to employ any other official 
person in the judgment of the accusation brought against the young 
Chevalier. 

“ All these things were going on while the Chevalier was at 
play. A run of luck — you had great luck in those days, Monsieur 
de Balibari— was against him. He stayed and lost his four thousand 
ducats. He received his uncle’s note, and such was the infatuation 
of the wretched gambler, that, on receipt of it, he went down to the 
courtyard, where the horse was in waiting, absolutely took the money 
which the poor old gentleman had placed in the saddle-holsters, 
brought it upstairs, played it, and lost it ; and when he issued 
from the room to fly, it was too late : he was placed in arrest at 
the bottom of my staircase, as you were upon entering your own 
home. 

“ Even when he came in under the charge of the soldiery sent 
to arrest him, the old General, who was ‘waiting, was overjoyed to 
see him, and flung himself into the lad’s arms, and embraced him : 
it was said, for the first time in many years. ‘ He is here, gentle- 
men,’ he sobbed out, — ‘thank God he is not guilty of the robbery ! ’ 
and then sank back in a chair in a burst of emotion; painful, it 
was said by those present, to witness on the part of a man so brave, 
and known to be so cold and stern. 

“ ‘ Robbery ! ’ said the young man. ‘I swear before Heaven 
I am guilty of none ! ’ and a scene of almost touching reconcilia- 
tion passed between them, before the unhappy young man was led 
from the guard-house into the prison which he was destined never 
to quit. 

“ That night the Duke looked over the papers which Geldern 
had brought to him. It was at a very early stage of the perusal, 
no doubt, that he gave orders for your arrest ; for you were taken 
at midnight, Magny at ten o’clock ; after which time the old Baron 
de Magny had seen his Highness, protesting of his grandson’s inno- 
cence, and the Prince had received him most graciously and kindly. 
His Highness said he had no doubt the young man was innocent ; 
his birth and his blood rendered such a crime impossible; but 
suspicion was too strong against him : he was known to have 
been that day closeted with the Jew; to have received a very 
large sum of money which he squandered at play, and of which 
the Hebrew had, doubtless, been the lender, — to have despatched 
his servant after him, who inquired the hour of the Jew’s departure, 
lay in wait for him, and rifled him. Suspicion was so strong against 
the Chevalier, that common justice required his arrest ; and, mean- 
while, until he cleared himself, he should be kept in not dishonour- 
able durance, and every regard had for his name, and the services 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 


147 


of his honourable grandfather. With this assurance, and with a 
warm grasp of the hand, the Prince left old General de Magny that 
night ; and the veteran retired to rest, almost consoled and confident 
in Maxime’s eventual and immediate release. 

“ But i-n the morning, before daybreak, the Prince, who had 
been reading papers all night, wildly called to the page, who slept 
in the next room across the door, bade him get horses, which were 
always kept in readiness in the stables, and, flinging a parcel of 
letters into a box, told the page to follow him on horseback with 
these. The young man (Monsieur de Weissenbom) told this to a 
young lady who was then of my household, and who is now Madame 
de Weisseuborn, and a mother of a score of children. 

“ The page described that never was such a change seen as in 
his august master in the course of that single night. His eyes were 
bloodshot, his face livid, his clothes were hanging loose about him, 
and he who had always made his appearance on parade as precisely 
dressed as any sergeant of his troops, might have been seen gallop- 
ing through the lonely streets at early dawn without a hat, his 
unpowdered hair streaming behind him like a madman. 

“ The page, with the box of papers, clattered after his master, — 
it was no easy task to follow him ; and they rode from the palace 
to the town, and through it to the General’s quarter. The sentinels 
at the door were scared at the strange figure that rushed up to the 
General’s gate, and, not knowing him, crossed bayonets, and refused 
him admission. ‘ Fools,’ said Weissenborn, ‘ it is the Prince ! ’ And, 
jangling at the bell as if for an alarm of fire, the door was at length 
opened by the porter, and his Highness ran up to the General’s bed- 
chamber, followed by the page with the box. 

“ ‘Magny — Magny,’ roared the Prince, thundering at the closed 
door, ‘ get up ! ’ And to the queries of the old man from within, 
answered, ‘ It is I — Victor — the Prince ! — get up ! ’ And presently 
the door was opened by the General in his robe-de-chambre , and the 
Prince entered. The page brought in the box, and was bidden to 
wait without, which he did ; but there led from Monsieur de Magny’s 
bedroom into his antechamber two doors, the great one which formed 
the entrance into his room, and a smaller one whicli led, as the 
fashion is with our houses abroad, into the closet which communicates 
with the alcove where the bed is. The door of this was found by 
M. de Weissenborn to be open, and the young man was thus enabled 
to hear and see everything which occurred within the apartment. 

“ The General, somewhat nervously, asked what was the reason 
of so early a visit from his Highness ; to which the Prince did not 
for a while reply, farther than by staring at him rather wildly and. 
pacing up and down the room. 


148 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

“ At last he said, ‘ Here is the cause ! ’ dashing his fist on the 
box ; and, as he had forgotten to bring the key with him, he went 
to the door for a moment, saying, ‘ Weissenborn perhaps has it ; ’ 
but seeing over the stove one of the General’s couteaux de chasse , he 
took it down, and said, £ That will do,’ and fell to work to burst the 
red trunk open with the blade of the forest knife. The point broke, 
and he gave an oath, but continued haggling on with the broken 
blade, which was better suited to his purpose than the long pointed 
knife, and finally succeeded in wrenching open the lid of the chest. 

“ ‘ What is the matter ? ’ said he, laughing. ‘ Here’s the matter ; 
— read that ! — here’s more matter, read that ! — here’s more — no, not 
that ; that’s somebody else’s picture — but here’s hers ! Do you know 
that, Magny ? My wife’s — the Princess’s ! Why did you and your 
cursed race ever come out of France, to plant your infernal wicked- 
ness wherever your feet fell, and to ruin honest German homes? 
What have you and yours ever had from my family but confidence 
and kindness ? We gave you a home when you had none, and here’s 
our reward ! ’ and he flung a parcel of papers down before the old 
general, who saw the truth at once : — he had known it long before, 
probably, and sank down on his chair, covering his face. 

“ The Prince went on gesticulating, and shrieking almost. ‘ If 
a man injured you so, Magny, before you begot the father of that 
gambling lying villain yonder, you would have known how to revenge 
yourself. You would have killed him ! Yes, would have killed him. 
But who’s to help me to my revenge ? I’ve no equal. I can’t meet 
that dog of a Frenchman, — that pimp from Versailles, — and kill him, 
as if he had played the traitor to one of his own degree.’ 

“ £ The blood of Maxime de Magny,’ said the old gentleman 
proudly, £ is as good as that of any prince in Christendom.’ 

££ ‘ Can I take it ? ’ cried the Prince ; * you know I can’t. I can’t 
have the privilege of any other gentleman in Europe. What am I 
to do ? Look here, Magny : I was wild when I came here ; I didn’t 
know what to do. You’ve served me for thirty years ; you’ve saved 
my life twice : they are all knaves and harlots about my poor old 
father here — no honest men or women — you are the only one — you 
saved my life : tell me what am I to do ? ’ Thus from insulting 
Monsieur de Magny, the poor distracted Prince fell to supplicating 
him ; and, at last, fairly flung himself down, and burst out in an 
agony of tears. 

££ Old Maguy, one of the most rigid and cold of men on common 
occasions, when he saw this outbreak of passion on the Prince’s 
part, became, as my informant has described to me, as much 
affected as his master. The old man, from being cold and high, 
suddenly fell, as it were, into the whimpering querulousness of 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 149 

extreme old age. He lost all sense of dignity : he went down on 
his knees, and broke out into all sorts of wild incoherent attempts 
at consolation; so much so, that Weissenbom said he could not 
bear to look at the scene, and actually turned away from the 
contemplation of it. 

“ But, from what followed in a few days, we may guess the 
results of the long interview. The Prince, when he came away 
from the conversation with his old servant, forgot his fatal box of 
papers and sent the page back for them. The General was on his 
knees praying in the room when the young man entered, and only 
stirred and looked wildly round as the other removed the packet. 
The Prince rode away to his hunting-lodge at three leagues from 

X , and three days after that Maxime de Magny died in prison ; 

having made a confession that he was engaged in an attempt to rob 
the J ew, and that he had made away with himself, ashamed of his 
dishonour. 

“ But it is not known that it was the General himself who took 
his grandson poison : it was said even that he shot him in the 
prison. This, however, was not the case. General de Magny 
carried his grandson the draught which was to carry him out of the 
world ; represented to the wretched youth that his fate was inevit- 
able ; that it would be public and disgraceful unless he chose to 
anticipate the punishment, and so left him. But it was not of his 
own accord , and not until he had used every means of escape, as 
you shall hear, that the unfortunate being’s life was brought to 
an end. 

“ As for General de Magny, he quite fell into imbecility a short 
time after his grandson’s death, and my honoured Duke’s demise. 

After his Highness the Prince married the Princess Mary of F , 

as they were walking in the English park together they once met 
old Magny riding in the sun in the easy-chair, in which he was 
carried commonly abroad after his paralytic fits. * This is my wife, 
Magny,’ said the Prince affectionately, taking the veteran’s hand; 
and he added, turning to his princess, ‘ General de Magny saved my 
life during the Seven Years’ War.’ 

“ ‘ What, you’ve taken her back again ? ’ said the old man. ‘ I 
wish you’d send me back my poor Maxime.’ He had quite forgotten 
the death of the poor Princess Olivia, and the Prince, looking very 
dark indeed, passed away. 

“And now,” said Madame de Liliengarten, “I have only one 
more gloomy story to relate to you — the death of the Princess 
Olivia. It is even more horrible than the tale I have just told 
you.” With which preface the old lady resumed her narrative. 

“ The kind weak Princess’s fate was hastened, if not occasioned, 


150 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

by the cowardice of Magny. He found means to communicate with 
her from his prison, and her Highness, who was not in open disgrace 
yet (for the Duke, out of regard to the family, persisted in charging 
Magny with only robbery), made the most desperate efforts to 
relieve him, and to bribe the gaolers to effect his escape. She was 
so wild that she lost all patience and prudence in the conduct of 
any schemes she may have had for Magny ’s liberation ; for her 
husband was inexorable, and caused the Chevalier’s prison to be too 
strictly guarded for escape to be possible. She offered the State 
jewels in pawn to the Court banker ; who of course was obliged to 
decline the transaction. She fell down on her knees, it is said, to 
Geldern, the Police Minister, and offered him Heaven knows what 
as a bribe. Finally, she came screaming to my poor dear Duke, 
who, with his age, diseases, and easy habits, was quite unfit for 
scenes of so violent a nature; and who, in consequence of the 
excitement created in his august bosom by her frantic violence and 
grief, had a fit in which I very nigh lost him. That his dear life 
was brought to an untimely end by these transactions I have not 
the slightest doubt ; for the Strasbourg pie, of which they said he 
died, never, I am sure, could have injured him, but for the injury 
which his dear gentle heart received from the unusual occurrences 
in which he was forced to take a share. 

“All her Highness’s movements were carefully, though not 
ostensibly, watched by her husband, Prince Victor; who waiting 
upon his august father, sternly signified to him that if his Highness 
(my Duke) should dare to aid the Princess in her efforts to release 
Magny, he, Prince Victor, would publicly accuse the Princess and her 
paramour of high treason, and take measures with the Diet for remov- 
ing his father from the throne, as incapacitated to reign. Hence 
interposition on our part was vain, and Magny was left to his fate. 

“It came, as you are aware, very suddenly. Geldern, Police 
Minister, Heugst, Master of the Horse, and the colonel of the 
Prince’s guard, waited upon the young man in his prison two days 
after his grandfather had visited him there and left behind him the 
phial of poison which the criminal had not the courage to use. And 
Geldern signified to the young man that unless he took of his 
own accord the laurel-water provided by the elder Magny, more 
violent means of death would be instantly employed upon him, 
and that a file of grenadiers was in waiting in the courtyard to 
despatch him. Seeing this, Magny, with the most dreadful self- 
abasement, after dragging himself round the room on his knees 
from one officer to another, weeping and screaming with terror, at 
last desperately drank off the potion, and was a corpse in a few 
minutes. Thus ended this wretched young man. 


151 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 

“ His death was made public in the Court Gazette two days 

after, the paragraph stating that Monsieur de M , struck with 

remorse for having attempted the murder of the Jew, had put him- 
self to death by poison in prison ; and a warning was added to all 
young noblemen of the duchy to avoid the dreadful sin of gambling, 
which had been the cause of the young man’s ruin, and had brought 
upon the grey hairs of one of the noblest and most honourable of 
the servants of the Duke irretrievable sorrow. 

“ The funeral was conducted with decent privacy, the General 
de Magny attending it. The carriages of the two Dukes and all the 
first people of the Court made their calls upon the General after- 
wards. He attended parade as usual the next day on the Arsenal- 
Place, and Duke Victor, who had been inspecting the building, 
came out of it leaning on the brave old warrior’s arm. He was 
particularly gracious to the old man, and told his officers the 

oft-repeated story how at Rosbach, when the X contingent 

served with the troops of the unlucky Soubise, the General had 
thrown himself in the way of a French dragoon, who was pressing 
hard upon his Highness in the rout, had received the blow intended 
for his master, and killed the assailant. And he alluded to the 
family motto of ‘ Magny sans tache,’ and said, ‘ It had been always 
so with his gallant friend and tutor in arms.’ This speech affected 
all present very much ; with the exception of the old General, who 
only bowed and did not speak ; but when he went home he was 
heard muttering ‘ Magny sans tache, Magny sans tache ! ’ and was 
attacked with paralysis that night, from which he never more than 
partially recovered. 

“The news of Maxime’s death had somehow been kept from 
the Princess until now : a Gazette even being printed without the 
paragraph containing the account of his suicide; but it was at 
length, I know not how, made known to her. And when she 
heard it, her ladies tell me, she screamed and fell, as if struck dead ; 
then sat up wildly and raved like a madwoman, and was then 
carried to her bed, where her physician attended her, and where she 
lay of a brain fever. All this while the Prince used to send to 
make inquiries concerning her; and from his giving orders that 
his Castle of Schlangenfels should be prepared and furnished, I make 
no doubt it was his intention to send her Into confinement thither : 
as had been done with the unhappy sister of his Britannic Majesty 
at Zell. 

“ She sent repeatedly to demand an interview with his Highness; 
which the latter declined, saying that he would communicate with 
her Highness when her health was sufficiently recovered. To one of 
her passionate letters he sent back for reply a packet, which, when 


152 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

opened, was found to contain the emerald that had been the cause 
round which all this dark intrigue moved. 

“ Her Highness at this time became quite frantic ; vowed in 
the presence of all her ladies that one lock of her darling Maxime’s 
hair was more precious to her than all the jewels in the world; 
rang for her carriage, and said she would go and kiss his tomb ; 
proclaimed the murdered martyr’s innocence, and called down the 
punishment of Heaven, the wrath of her family, upon his assassin. 
The Prince, on hearing these speeches (they were all, of course, 
regularly brought to him), is said to have given one of his dreadful 
looks (which I remember now), and to have said, ‘ This cannot last 
much longer.’ 

“All that day and the next the Princess Olivia passed in 
dictating the most passionate letters to the Prince her father, to 
the Kings of France, Naples, and Spain, her kinsmen, and to all 
other branches of her family, calling upon them in the most inco- 
herent terms to protect her against the butcher and assassin her 
husband, assailing his person in the maddest terms of reproach, and 
at the same time confessing her love for the murdered Magny. It 
was in vain that those ladies who were faithful to her pointed 
out to her the inutility of these letters, the dangerous folly of the 
confessions which they made ; she insisted upon writing them, and 
used to give them to her second robe-woman, a Frenchwoman (her 
Highness always affectioned persons of that nation), who had the 
key of her cassette, and carried every one of these epistles to 
Geldern. 

“With the exception that no public receptions were held, the 
ceremony of the Princess’s establishment went on as before. Her 
ladies were allowed to wait upon her and perform their usual duties 
about her person. The only men admitted were, however, her 
servants, her physician, and chaplain ; and one day when she wished 
to go into the garden, a heyduc, who kept the door, intimated to 
her Highness that the Prince’s orders were that she should keep 
her apartments. 

“ They abut, as you remember, upon the landing of the marble 

staircase of Schloss X ; the entrance to Prince Victor’s suite 

of rooms being opposite the Princess’s on the same landing. This 
space is large, filled with sofas and benches, and the gentlemen and 
officers who waited upon the Duke used to make a sort of ante- 
chamber of the landing-place, and pay their court to his Highness 
there, as he passed out, at eleven o’clock, to parade. At such a 
time, the heyducs within the Princess’s suite of rooms used to turn 
out with their halberts and present to Prince Victor — the same 
ceremony being performed on his own side, when pages came out 


153 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 

and announced the approach of his Highness. The pages used to 
come out and say, * The Prince, gentlemen ! ’ and the drums beat in 
the hall, and the gentlemen rose, who were waiting on the benches 
that ran along the balustrade. 

“As if fate impelled her to her death, one day the Princess, as 
her guards turned out, and she was aware that the Prince was 
standing, as was his wont, on the landing, conversing with his 
gentlemen (in the old days he used to cross to the Princess’s apart- 
ment and kiss her hand) — the Princess, who had been anxious all 
the morning, complaining of heat, insisting that all the doors of the 
apartments should be left open ; and giving tokens of an insanity 
which I think was now evident, rushed wildly at the doors when 
the guards passed out, flung them open, and before a word could be 
said, or her ladies could follow her, was in the presence of Duke 
Victor, who was talking as usual on the landing : placing herself 
between him and the stair, she began apostrophising him with 
frantic vehemence : — 

“ ‘ Take notice, gentlemen ! ’ she screamed out, ‘ that this man is 
a murderer and a liar ; that he lays plots for honourable gentlemen, 
and kills them in prison ! Take notice, that I too am in prison, 
and fear the same fate : the same butcher who killed Maxime de 
Magny, may, any night, put the knife to my throat. I appeal to 
you, and to all the kings of Europe, my Royal kinsmen. I demand 
to be set free from this tyrant and villain, this liar and traitor ! I 
adjure you all, as gentlemen of honour, to carry these letters to 
my relatives, and say from whom you had them ! ’ and with this the 
unhappy lady began scattering letters about among the astonished 
crowd. 

“ ‘ Let no man stoop 1 ’ cried the Prince, in a voice of thunder. 

* Madame de Gleim, you should have watched your patient better. 
Call the Princess’s physicians : her Highness’s brain is affected. 
Gentlemen, have the goodness to retire.’ And the Prince stood on 
the landing as the gentlemen went down the stairs, saying fiercely 
to the guard, ‘ Soldier, if she moves, strike with your halbert ! ’ on 
which the man brought the point of his weapon to the Princess’s 
breast; and the lady, frightened, shrank back and re-entered her 
apartments. ‘Now, Monsieur de Weissenborn,’ said the Prince, 

‘ pick up all those papers,’ and the Prince went into his own apart- 
ments, preceded by his pages, and never quitted them until he had 
seen every one of the papers burnt. 

“ The next day the Court Gazette contained a bulletin 
signed by the three physicians, stating that ‘Her Highness the 
Hereditary Princess laboured under inflammation of the brain, and 
had passed a restless and disturbed night.’ Similar notices were 


154 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

issued day after day. The services of all her ladies, except two, 
were dispensed with. Guards were placed within and without her 
doors; her windows were secured, so that escape from them was 
impossible : and you know what took place ten days after. The 
church-bells were ringing all night, and the prayers of the faithful 
asked for a person in extremis. A Gazette appeared in the morning, 
edged with black, and stating that the high and mighty Princess 
Olivia Maria Ferdinanda, consort of His Serene Highness Victor 

Louis Emanuel, Hereditary Prince of X , had died in the 

evening of the 24th of January 1769. 

“ But do you know how she died, sir % That, too, is a mystery. 
Weissenbom, the page, was concerned in this dark tragedy ; and 
the secret was so dreadful, that never, believe me, till Prince Victor’s 
death, did I reveal it. 

“After the fatal esclandre which the Princess had made, the 
Prince sent for Weissenborn, and binding him by the most solemn 
adjuration to secrecy (he only broke it to his wife many years 
after : indeed there is no secret in the world that women cannot 
know if they will), despatched him on the following mysterious 
commission. 

“ ‘ There lives,’ said his Highness, ‘ on the Kehl side of the 
river, opposite to Strasbourg, a man whose residence you will easily 
find out from his name, which is Monsieur de Strasbourg. You 
will make your inquiries concerning him quietly, and without 
occasioning any remark ; perhaps you had better go into Strasbourg 
for the purpose, where the person is quite well known. You will 
take with you any comrade on whom you can perfectly rely : the 
lives of both, remember, depend on your secrecy. You will find 
out some period when Monsieur de Strasbourg is alone, or only in 
company of the domestic who lives with him (I myself visited the 
man by accident on my return from Paris five years since, and hence 
am induced to send for him now, in my present emergency). You 
will have your carriage waiting at his door at night ; and you and 
your comrade will enter his house masked, and present him with a 
purse of a hundred louis ; promising him double that sum on his 
return from his expedition. If he refuse, you must use force and 
bring him ; menacing him with instant death should he decline to 
follow you. You will place him in the carriage with the blinds 
drawn, one or other of you never losing sight of him the whole way, 
and threatening him with death if he discover himself or cry out. 
You will lodge him in the old Tower here, where a room shall be 
prepared for him ; and his work being done, you will restore him to 
his home with the same speed and secrecy with which you brought 
him from it.’ 


THE PRINCESS’S TRAGEDY 


155 


“ Such were the mysterious orders Prince Victor gave his page ; 
and Weissenborn, selecting for his comrade in the expedition Lieutenant 
Bartenstein, set out on his strange journey. 

“ All this while the palace was hushed, as if in mourning ; the 
bulletins in the Court Gazette appeared, announcing the continuance 
of the Princess’s malady ; and though she had but few attendants, 
strange and circumstantial stories were told regarding the progress 
of her complaint. She was quite wild. She had tried to kill her- 
self. She had fancied herself to be I don’t know how many different 
characters. Expresses were sent to her family informing them of 
her state, and couriers despatched ‘publicly to Vienna and Paris to 
procure the attendance of physicians skilled in treating diseases of 
the brain. That pretended anxiety was all a feint : it was never 
intended that the Princess should recover. 

“The day on which Weissenborn and Bartenstein returned from 
their expedition, it was announced that her Highness the Princess 
was much worse ; that night the report through the town was that 
she was at the agony : and that night the unfortunate creature was 
endeavouring to make her escape. 

“ She had unlimited confidence in the French chamber-woman 
who attended her, and between her and this woman the plan of 
escape was arranged. The Princess took her jewels in a casket ; a 
private door, opening from one of her rooms and leading into the 
outer gate, it was said, of the palace, was discovered for her : and a 
letter was brought to her, purporting to be from the Duke her 
father-in-law, and stating that a carriage and horses had been pro- 
vided, and would take her to B : the territory where she might 

communicate with her family and be safe. 

“ The unhappy lady, confiding in her guardian, set out on the 
expedition. The passages wound through the walls of the modern 
part of the palace and abutted in effect at the old Owl Tower, as it 
was called, on the outer wall : the tower was pulled down after- 
wards, and for good reason. 

“ At a certain place the candle, which the chamber-woman was 
carrying, went out' and the Princess would have screamed with 
terror, but her hand was seized, and a voice cried * Hush ! ’ The 
next minute a man in a mask (it was the Duke himself) rushed 
forward, gagged her with a handkerchief, her hands and legs were 
bound, and she was carried swooning with terror into a vaulted 
room, where she was placed by a person there waiting, and tied in 
an arm-chair. The same mask who had gagged her, came and bared 
her neck and said, ‘ It had best be done now she has fainted.’ 

“ Perhaps it would have been as well ; for though she recovered 
from her swoon, and her confessor, who was present, came forward 


156 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

and endeavoured to prepare her for the awful deed which was about 
to be done upon her, and for the state into which she was about to 
enter, when she came to herself it was only to scream like a maniac, 
to curse the Duke as a butcher and tyrant, and to call upon Magny, 
her dear Magny. 

“ At this the Duke said, quite calmly, * May God have mercy 
on her sinful soul ! ’ He, the confessor, and Geldern, who were 
present, went down on their knees; and, as his Highness dropped 
his handkerchief, Weissenbom fell down in a fainting fit ; while 
Monsieur de Strasbourg, taking the back hair in his hand, separated 
the shrieking head of Olivia from the miserable sinful body. May 
Heaven have mercy upon her soul ! ” 

This was the story told by Madame de Liliengarten, and the 
reader will have no difficulty in drawing from it that part which 
affected myself and my uncle ; who, after six weeks of arrest, were 
set at liberty, but with orders to quit the duchy immediately : 
indeed, with an escort of dragoons to conduct us to the frontier. 
What property we had we were allowed to sell and realise in money ; 
but none of our play debts were paid to us : and all my hopes of 
the Countess Ida were thus at an end. 

When Duke Victor came to the throne, which he did when, six 
months after, apoplexy carried off the old sovereign his father, all 

the good old usages of X were given up, — play forbidden ; the 

opera and ballet sent to the right-about ; and the regiments which 
the old Duke had sold recalled from their foreign service : with 
them came my Countess’s beggarly cousin the ensign, and he married 
her. I don’t know whether they were happy or not. It is certain 
that a woman of such a poor spirit did not merit any very high 
degree of pleasure. 

The now reigning Duke of X himself married four years 

after his first wife’s demise, and Geldern, though no longer Police 
Minister, built the grand house of which Madame de Liliengarten 
spoke. What became of the minor actors in the great tragedy, who 
knows 1 Only Monsieur de Strasbourg was restored to his duties. 
Of the rest — the Jew, the chamber-woman, the spy on Magny — I 
know nothing. Those sharp tools with which great people cut out 
their enterprises are generally broken in the using : nor did I ever 
hear that their employers had much regard for them in their ruin. 


CHAPTER XIII 

I CONTINUE MY CAREER AS A MAN OF FASHION 

I FIND I have already filled up many scores of pages, and yet a 
vast deal of the most interesting portion of my history remains 
to be told, viz., that which describes my sojourn in the kingdoms 
of England and Ireland, and the great part I played there ; moving 
among the most illustrious of the land, myself not the least dis- 
tinguished of the brilliant circle. In order to give due justice to 
this portion of my memoirs, then,— which is more important than 
my foreign adventures can be (though I could fill volumes with 
interesting descriptions of the latter), — I shall cut short the account 
of my travels in Europe, and of my success at the Continental 
Courts, in order to speak of what befell me at home. Suffice it to 
say that there is not a capital in Europe, except the beggarly one of 
Berlin, where the young Chevalier de Balibari was not known and 
admired ; and where he has not made the brave, the high-born, and the 
beautiful talk of him. I won eighty thousand roubles from Potemkin 
at the Winter Palace at Petersburg, which the scoundrelly favourite 
never paid me ; I have had the honour of seeing his Royal Highness 
the Chevalier Charles Edward as drunk as any porter at Rome ; my 
uncle played several matches at billiards against the celebrated Lord 

C at Spa, and I promise you did not come off a loser. In fact, 

by a neat stratagem of ours, we raised the laugh against his Lord- 
ship, and something a great deal more substantial. My Lord did 
not know that the Chevalier Barry had a useless eye ; and when, 
one day, my uncle playfully bet him odds at billiards that he would 
play him with a patch over one eye, the noble lord, thinking to bite 
us (he was one of the most desperate gamblers that ever lived), 
accepted the bet, and we won a very considerable amount of him. 

Nor need I mention my successes among the fairer portion of 
the creation. One of the most accomplished, the tallest, the most 
athletic, and the handsomest gentlemen of Europe, as I was then, a 
young fellow of my figure could not fail of having advantages, which 
a person of my spirit knew very well how to use. But upon these 
subjects I am dumb. Charming Schuvaloff, black-eyed Sczotarska, 
dark Valdez, tender Hegenheim, brilliant Langeac ! — ye gentle 


158 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

hearts that knew how to beat in old times for the warm young Irish 
gentleman, where are ye now 1 ? Though my hair has grown grey 
now, and my sight dim, and my heart cold with years, and ennui, 
and disappointment, and the treachery of friends, yet I have but to 
lean back in my arm-chair and think, and those sweet figures come 
rising up before me out of the past, with their smiles, and their 
kindnesses, and their bright tender eyes ! There are no women like 
them now — no manners like theirs ! Look you at a bevy of women 
at the Prince’s, stitched up in tight white satin sacks, with their 
waists under their arms, and compare them to the graceful figures of 
the old time ! Why, when I danced with Coralie de Langeac at the 
fetes on the birth of the first Dauphin at Versailles, her hoop was 
eighteen feet in circumference, and the heels of her lovely little 
mules were three inches from the ground ; the lace of my jabot was 
worth a thousand crowns, and the buttons of my amaranth velvet 
coat alone cost eighty thousand livres. Look at the difference now ! 
The gentlemen are dressed like boxers, quakers, or hackney-coach- 
men; and the ladies are not dressed at all. There is no elegance, 
no refinement; none of the chivalry of the old world, of which I 
form a portion. Think of the fashion of London being led by a 
Br-mm-1 ! * a nobody’s son : a low creature, who can no more dance 
a minuet than I can talk Cherokee ; who cannot even crack a bottle 
like a gentleman ; who never showed himself to be a man with his 
sword in his hand : as we used to approve ourselves in the good old 
times, before that vulgar Corsican upset the gentry of the world ! 
Oh, to see the Valdez once again, as on that day I met her first 
driving in state, with her eight mules and her retinue of gentlemen, 
by the side of yellow Man^anares ! Oh, for another drive with 
Hegenheim, in the gilded sledge, over the Saxon snow ! False as 
Schuvaloff was, ’twas better to be jilted by her than to be adored 
by any other woman. I can’t think of any one of them without 
tenderness. I have ringlets of all their hair in my poor little 
museum of recollections. Do you keep mine, you dear souls that 
survive the turmoils and troubles of near half a hundred years'? 
How changed its colour is now, since the day Sczotarska wore it 
round her neck, after my duel with Count Bjernaski, at Warsaw. 

I never kept any beggarly books of accounts in those days. I 
had no debts. I paid royally for everything I took ; and I took 
everything I wanted. My income must have been very large. My 
entertainments and equipages were those of a gentleman of the 
highest distinction : nor let any scoundrel presume to sneer because 
I carried off and married my Lady Lyndon (as you shall presently 

* This manuscript must have been written at the time when Mr. Brummel 
was the leader of the London fashion. 


THE COUNTESS OF LYNDON 


159 

hear), and call me an adventurer, or say I was penniless, or the match 
unequal. Penniless ! I had the wealth of Europe at my command. 
Adventurer ! So is a meritorious lawyer or a gallant soldier ; so 
is every man who makes his own fortune an adventurer. My pro- 
fession was play : in which I was then unrivalled. No man could 
play with me through Europe, on the square ; and my income was 
just as certain (during health and the exercise of my profession) as 
that of a man who draws on his Three-per-cents., or any fat squire 
whose acres bring him revenue. Harvest is not more certain than 
the effect of skill is : a crop is a chance, as much as a game of cards 
greatly played by a fine player : there may be a drought, or a frost, 
or a hailstorm, and your stake is lost; but one man is just as 
much an adventurer as another. 

In evoking the recollection of these kind and fair creatures I 
have nothing but pleasure. I would I could say as much of the 
memory of another lady, who will henceforth play a considerable 
part in the drama of my life, — I mean the Countess of Lyndon ; 
whose fatal acquaintance I made at Spa, very soon after the events 
described in the last chapter had caused me to quit Germany. 

Honoria, Countess of Lyndon, Viscountess Bullingdon in England, 
Baroness Castle Lyndon of the kingdom of Ireland, was so well 
known to the great world in her day, that I have little need to 
enter into her family history ; which is to be had in any Peerage 
that the reader may lay his hand on. She w r as, as I need not say, 
a countess, viscountess, and baroness in her own right. Her estates 
in Devon and Cornwall were among the most extensive in those 
parts; her Irish possessions not less magnificent; and they have 
been alluded to, in a very early part of these memoirs, as lying 
near to my own paternal property in the kingdom of Ireland : 
indeed, unjust confiscations in the time of Elizabeth and her father 
went to diminish my acres, while they added to the already vast 
possessions of the Lyndon family. 

The Countess, when I first saw her at the assembly at Spa, 
was the wife of her cousin, the Bight Honourable Sir Charles 
Reginald Lyndon, Knight of the Bath, and Minister to George II. 
and George III. at several of the smaller Courts of Europe. Sir 
Charles Lyndon was celebrated as a wit and bon vivant : he could 
write love-verses against Hanbury Williams, and make jokes with 
George Selwyn; he w T as a man of vertu, like Horry Walpole, with 
whom and Mr. Grey he had made a part of the grand tour ; and 
was cited, in a word, as one of the most elegant and accomplished 
men of his time. 

I made this gentleman’s acquaintance as usual at the play-table, 
of which he was a constant frequenter. Indeed, one could not but 


16*0 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

admire the spirit and gallantry with which he pursued his favourite 
pastime ; for, though worn out by gout and a myriad of diseases, 
a cripple wheeled about in a chair, and suffering pangs of agony, 
yet you would see him every morning and every evening at his 
post behind the delightful green cloth : and if, as it would often 
happen, his own hands were too feeble or inflamed to hold the 
box, he would call the mains, nevertheless, and have his valet or 
a friend to throw for him. I like this courageous spirit in a man : 
the greatest successes in life have been won by such indomitable 
perseverance. 

I was by this time one of the best-known characters in 
Europe ; and the fame of my exploits, my duels, my courage at 
play, would bring crowds around me in any public society where I 
appeared. I could show reams of scented paper, to prove that this 
eagerness to make my acquaintance was not confined to the gentle- 
men only ; but that I hate boasting, and only talk of myself in so 
far as it is necessary to relate myself s adventures : the most singular 
of any man’s in Europe. Well, Sir Charles Lyndon’s first acquaint- 
ance with me originated in the right honourable knight’s winning 
seven hundred pieces of me at picquet (for which he was almost my 
match) ; and I lost them with much good-humour, and paid them : 
and paid them, you may be sure, punctually. Indeed, I will say 
this for myself, that losing money at play never in the least put me 
out of good-humour with the winner, and that wherever 1 found 
a superior, I was always ready to acknowledge and hail him. 

Lyndon was very proud of winning from so celebrated a person, 
and we contracted a kind of intimacy ; which, however, did not for 
a while go beyond pump-room attentions, and conversations over 
the supper-table at play : but which gradually increased, until I 
was admitted into his more private friendship. He was a very 
free-spoken man (the gentry of those days were much prouder than 
at present), and used to say to me in his haughty easy way, “ Hang 
it, Mr. Barry, you have no more manners than a barber, and I 
think my black footman has been better educated than you ; but 
you are a young fellow of originality and pluck, and I like you, 
sir, because you seem determined to go to the deuce by a way of 
your own.” I would thank him laughingly for this compliment, 
and say, that as he was bound to the next world much sooner than 
I was, I would be obliged to him to get comfortable quarters 
arranged there for me. He used also to be immensely amused 
with my stories about the splendour of my family and the magni- 
ficence of Castle Brady : he would never tire of listening or laughing 
at those histories. 

“ Stick to the trumps, however, my lad,” he would say, when 


sir Charles Lyndon 161 

I told him of my misfortunes in the conjugal line, and how near I 
had been winning the greatest fortune in Germany. “ Do anything 
but marry, my artless Irish rustic ” (he called me by a multiplicity 
of queer names). “ Cultivate your great talents in the gambling 
line ; but mind this, that a woman will beat you.” 

That I denied; mentioning several instances in which I had 
conquered the most intractable tempers among the sex. 

“ They will beat you in the long run, my Tipperary Alcibiades. 
As soon as you are married, take my word of it, you are conquered. 
Look at me. I married my cousin, the noblest and greatest heiress 
in England — married her in spite of herself almost ” (here a dark 
shade passed over Sir Charles Lyndon’s countenance). She is a 
weak woman. You shall see her, sir, how weak she is ; but she is 
my mistress. She has embittered my whole life. “ She is a fool ; 
but she has got the better of one of the best heads in Christendom. 
She is enormously rich ; but somehow I have never been so poor as 
since I married her. I thought to better myself ; and she has 
made me miserable and killed me. And she will do as much for 
my successor, when I am gone.” 

“ Has her Ladyship a very large income 1 ” said I. At which 
Sir Charles burst out into a yelling laugh, and made me blush not 
a little at my gaucherie ; for the fact is, seeing him in the condition 
in which he was, I could not help speculating upon the chance a 
man of spirit might have with his widow. 

“No, no!” said he, laughing. “Waugh hawk, Mr. Barry; 
don’t think, if you value your peace of mind, to stand in my shoes 
when they are vacant. Besides, I don’t think my Lady Lyndon 
would quite condescend to marry a ” 

“ Marry a what, sir ? ” said I, in a rage. 

“ Never mind what : but the man who gets her will rue it, take 
my word on’t. A plague on her ! had it not been for my father’s 
ambition and mine (he was her uncle and guardian, and we wouldn’t 
let such a prize out of the family), I might have died peaceably, at 
least; carried my gout down to my grave in quiet, lived in my 
modest tenement in Mayfair, had every house in England open to 
me ; and now, now I have six of my own, and every one of them is a 
hell to me. Beware of greatness, Mr. Barry. Take warning by me. 
Ever since I have been married and have been rich, I have been the 
most miserable wretch in the world. Look at me. I am dying 
a worn-out cripple at the age of fifty. Marriage has added forty 
years to my life. When I took off Lady Lyndon, there was no 
man of my years \yho looked so young as myself. Fool that I 
was ! I had enough with my pensions, perfect freedom, the best 
society in Europe ; and I gave up all these, and married, and was 
4 L 


162 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

miserable. Take a warning by me, Captain Barry, and stick to 
the trumps.” 

Though my intimacy with the knight was considerable, for a long 
time I never penetrated into any other apartments of his hotel but 
those which he himself occupied. His lady lived entirely apart from 
him ; and it is only curious how they came to travel together at all. 
She was a goddaughter of old Mary Wortley Montagu : and, like 
that famous old woman of the last century, made considerable pre- 
tensions to be a blue-stocking and a bel esprit. Lady Lyndon wrote 
poems in English and Italian, which still may be read by the curious 
in the pages of the magazines of the day. She entertained a corre- 
spondence with several of the European savans upon history, science, 
and ancient languages, and especially theology. Her pleasure was 
to dispute controversial points with abb^s and bishops ; and her 
flatterers said she rivalled Madame Dacier in learning. Every adven- 
turer who had a discovery in chemistry, a new antique bust, or a plan 
for discovering the philosopher’s stone, was sure to find a patroness 
in her. She had numberless works dedicated to her, and sonnets 
without end addressed to her by all the poetasters of Europe, under 
the name of Lindonira or Calista. Her rooms were crowded with 
hideous China magots, and all sorts of objects of vertu. 

No woman piqued herself more upon her principles, or allowed 
love to be made to her more profusely. There was a habit of court- 
ship practised by the fine gentlemen of those days, which is little 
understood in our coarse downright times ; and young and old fellows 
would pour out floods of compliments in letters and madrigals, such 
as would make a sober lady stare were they addressed to her nowa- 
days : so entirely has the gallantry of the last century disappeared 
out of our manners. 

Lady Lyndon moved about with a little court of her own. She 
had half-a-dozen carriages in her progresses. In her own she would 
travel with her companion (some shabby lady of quality), her birds, 
and poodles, and the favourite savant for the time being. In 
another would be her female secretary and her waiting-woman; 
who, in spite of their care, never could make their mistress look 
much better than a slattern. Sir Charles Lyndon had his own 
chariot, and. the domestics of the establishment would follow in 
other vehicles. 

Also must be mentioned the carnage in which rode her Ladyship’s 
chaplain, Mr. Runt, who acted in capacity of governor to her son, 
the little Viscount Bullingdon, — a melancholy deserted little boy, 
about whom his father was more than indifferent, and whom his 
mother never saw, except for two minutes at her levde, when she 
would put to him a few questions of history or Latin grammar ; after 


LADY LYNDON 1 63 

which he was consigned to his own amusements, or the care of his 
governor, for the rest of the day. 

The notion of such a Minerva as this, whom I saw in the public 
places now and then, surrounded by swarms of needy abbds and 
schoolmasters, who flattered her, frightened me for some time, and I 
had not the least desire to make her acquaintance. I had no desire 
to be one of the beggarly adorers in the great lady’s train, — fellows, 
half friend, half lacquey, who made verses, and wrote letters, and ran 
errands, content to be paid by a seat in her Ladyship’s box at the 
comedy, or a cover at her dinner-table at noon. “ Don’t be afraid,” 
Sir Charles Lyndon would say, whose great subject of conversation 
and abuse was his lady : “ my Lindonira will have nothing to do 
with you. She likes the Tuscan brogue, not that of Kerry. She 
says you smell too much of the stable to be admitted to ladies’ society ; 
and last Sunday fortnight, when she did me the honour to speak to 
me last, said, ‘ I wonder, Sir Charles Lyndon, a gentleman who has 
been the King’s ambassador can demean himself by gambling and 
boozing with low Irish blacklegs ! ’ Don’t fly in a fury ! I’m a 
cripple, and it was Lindonira said it, not I.” 

This piqued me, and I resolved to become acquainted with Lady 
Lyndon ; if it were but to show her Ladyship that the descendant 
of those Barrys, whose property she unjustly held, was not an un- 
worthy companion for any lady, were she ever so high. Besides, 
my friend the knight was dying : his widow would be the richest 
prize in the three kingdoms. Why should I not win her, and, with 
her, the means of making in the world that figure which my genius" 
and inclination desired I felt I was equal in blood and breeding 
to any Lyndon in Christendom, and determined to bend this haughty 
lady. When I determine, I look upon the thing as done. 

My uncle and I talked the matter over, and speedily settled 
upon a method for making our approaches upon this stately lady of 
Castle Lyndon. Mr. Runt, young Lord Bullingdon’s governor, was 
fond of pleasure, of a glass of Rhenish in the garden-houses in the 
summer evenings, and of a sly throw of the dice when the occasion 
offered; and I took care to make friends with this person, who, 
being a college tutor and an Englishman, was ready to go on his 
knees to any one who resembled a man of fashion. Seeing me with 
my retinue of servants, my vis-a-vis and chariots, my valets, my 
hussar, and horses, dressed in gold, and velvet, and sables, saluting 
the greatest people in Europe as we met on the course, or at the 
Spas, Runt was dazzled by my advances, and was mine by a 
beckoning of the finger. I shall never forget the poor wretch’s 
astonishment when I asked him to dine, with two counts, off gold 
plate, at the little room in the casino : he was made happy by being 


164 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

allowed to win a few pieces of us, became exceedingly tipsy, sang 
Cambridge songs, and recreated the company by telling us, in his 
horrid Yorkshire French, stories about the gyps, and all the lords 
that had ever been in his college. I encouraged him to come and 
see me oftener and bring with him his little viscount ; for whom, 
though the boy always detested me, I took care to have a good stock 
of sweetmeats, toys, and picture-books when he came. 

I then began to enter into a controversy with Mr. Runt, and 
confided to him some doubts which I had, and a very very earnest 
leaning towards the Church of Rome. I made a certain abbd whom 
I knew, write me letters upon transubstantiation, &c., which the 
honest tutor was rather puzzled to answer. I knew that they would 
be communicated to his lady, as they were; for, asking leave to 
attend the English service which was celebrated in her apartments, 
and frequented by the best English then at the Spa, on . the second 
Sunday she condescended to look at me ; on the third she was 
pleased to reply to my profound bow, by a curtsey ; the next day 
I followed up the acquaintance by another obeisance in the public 
walk ; and, to make a long story short, her Ladyship and I were in 
full correspondence on transubstantiation before six weeks were over. 
My Lady came to the aid of her chaplain ; and then I began to see 
the prodigious weight of his arguments : as was to be expected. 
The progress of this harmless little intrigue need not be detailed. 
I make no doubt every one of my readers has practised similar 
stratagems when a fair lady was in the case. 

I shall never forget the astonishment of Sir Charles Lyndon 
when, on one summer evening, as he was issuing out to the play- 
table in his sedan-chair, according to his wont, her Ladyship’s 
barouche and four, with her outriders in the tawny livery of the 
Lyndon family, came driving into the courtyard of the house which 
they inhabited ; and in that carriage, by her Ladyship’s side, sat 
no other than “ the vulgar Irish adventurer,” as she was pleased 
to call him : I mean Redmond Barry, Esquire. He made the most 
courtly of his bows, and grinned and waved his hat in as graceful 
a manner as the gout permitted ; and her Ladyship and I replied 
to the salutation with the utmost politeness and elegance on our 
parts. 

I could not go to the play-table for some time afterwards, for 
Lady Lyndon and I had an argument on transubstantiation, which 
lasted for three hours ; in which she was, as usual, victorious, and 
in which her companion, the Honourable Miss Flint Skinner, fell 
asleep ; but when, at last, I joined Sir Charles at the casino, he 
received me with a yell of laughter, as his wont was, and introduced 
me to all the company as Lady Lyndon’s interesting young convert. 


SIR CHARLES AT THE CASINO 1 65 

This was his way. He laughed and sneered at everything. He 
laughed when he was in a paroxysm of pain ; he laughed when he 
won money, or when he lost it : his laugh was not jovial or agree- 
able, but rather painful and sardonic. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he to Punter, Colonel Loder, Count du 
Carreau, and several jovial fellows with whom he used to discuss 
a flask of champagne and a Rhenish trout or two after play, “ see 
this amiable youth ! He has been troubled by religious scruples, 
and has flown for refuge to my chaplain, Mr. Runt, who has asked 
for advice from my wife, Lady Lyndon ; and, between them both, 
they are confirming my ingenious young friend in his faith. Did 
you ever hear of such doctors, and such a disciple ? ” 

“ ’Faith, sir,” said I, “ if I want to learn good principles, it’s 
surely better I should apply for them to your lady and your chaplain 
than to you ! ” 

“ He wants to step into my shoes ! ” continued the knight. 

“ The man would be happy who did so,” responded I, “ provided 
there were no chalk-stones included ! ” At which reply Sir Charles 
was not very well pleased, and went on with increased rancour. 
He was always free-spoken in his cups ; and to say the truth, he 
was in his cups many more times in a week than his doctors 
allowed. 

“ Is it not a pleasure, gentlemen,” said he, “ for me, as I am 
drawing near the goal, to find my home such a happy one ; my wife 
so fond of me, that she is even now thinking of appointing a 
successor? (I don’t mean you precisely, Mr. Barry; you are only 
taking your chance with a score of others whom I could mention.) 
Isn’t it a comfort to see her, like a prudent housewife, getting 
everything ready for her husband’s departure ? ” 

“I hope you are not thinking of leaving us soon, knight?” 
said I, with perfect sincerity; for I liked him, as a most amusing 
companion. 

“Not so soon, my dear, as you may fancy, perhaps,” continued 
he. “Why, man, I have been given over any time these four 
years ; and there was always a candidate or two waiting to apply 
for the situation. Who knows how long I may keep you waiting ? ” 
and he did keep me waiting some little time longer than at that 
period there was any reason to suspect. 

As I declared myself pretty openly, according to my usual way, 
and authors are accustomed to describe the persons of the ladies 
with whom their heroes fall in love ; in compliance with this 
fashion, I perhaps should say a word or two respecting the charms 
of my Lady Lyndon. But though I celebrated them in many 
copies of verses, of my own and other persons’ writing ; and though 


166 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

I filled reams of paper in the passionate style of those days with 
compliments to every one of her beauties and smiles, in which I 
compared her to every flower, goddess, or famous heroine ever heard 
of, — truth compels me to say that there was nothing divine about 
her at all. She was very well ; but no more. Her shape was fine, 
her hair dark, her eyes good, and exceedingly active; she loved 
singing, but performed it as so great a lady should, very much out 
of tune. She had a smattering of half-a-dozen modern languages, 
and, as I have said before, of many more sciences than I even knew 
the name of. She piqued herself on knowing Greek and Latin ; 
but the truth is, that Mr. Runt used to supply her w r ith the quota- 
tions which she introduced into her voluminous correspondence. 
She had as much love of admiration, as strong, uneasy a vanity, 
and as little heart, as any woman I ever knew. Otherwise, when 
her son, Lord Bullingdon, on account of his differences with me, 

ran but that matter shall be told in its proper time. Finally, 

my Lady Lydon was about a year older than myself; though, of 
course, she would take her Bible oath that she was three years 
younger. 

Few men are so honest as I am ; for few will own to their real 
motives, and I don’t care a button about confessing mine. What 
Sir Charles Lyndon said was perfectly true. I made the acquaint- 
ance of Lady Lyndon with ulterior views. “Sir,” said I to him, when, 
after the scene described and the jokes he made upon me, we met 
alone, “ let those laugh that win. You were very pleasant upon me 
a few nights since, and on my intentions regarding your lady. Well, 
if they are what you think they are, — if I do wish to step into 
your shoes, what then 1 I have no other intentions than you had 
yourself. I’ll be sworn to muster just as much regard for my Lady 
Lyndon as you ever showed her ; and if I win her and wear her 
when you are dead and gone, corbleu, knight, do you think it will 
be the fear of your ghost will deter me 1 ” 

Lyndon laughed as usual ; but somewhat disconcertedly : indeed 
I had clearly the best of him in the argument, and had just as much 
right to hunt my fortune as he had. 

But one day he said, “ If you marry such a woman as my Lady 
Lyndon, mark my words, you will regret it. You will pine after 
the liberty you once enjoyed. By George! Captain Barry,” he 
added with a sigh, “ the thing that I regret most in life — perhaps 
it is because I am old, blase, and dying — is, that I never had a 
virtuous attachment.” 

“Ha! ha! a milkmaid’s daughter!” said I, laughing at the 
absurdity. 

“ Well, why not a milkmaid’s daughter? My good fellow, I 


A MAN OF THE WORLD 


167 

was in love in youth, as most gentlemen are, with my tutor’s 
daughter, Helena, a bouncing girl ; of course older than myself” 
(this made me remember my own little love passages with Nora 
Brady in the days of my early life), “ and do you know, sir, I 
heartily regret I didn’t marry her? There’s nothing like having 
a virtuous drudge at home, sir ; depend upon that. It gives a zest 
to one’s enjoyments in the world, take my word for it. No man of 
sense need restrict himself, or deny himself a single amusement for his 
wile’s sake : on the contrary, if he select the animal properly, he 
will choose such a one as shall be no bar to his pleasure, but a 
comfort in his hours of annoyance. For instance, I have got the 
gout : who tends me ? A hired valet, who robs me whenever he 
has the power. My wife never comes near me. What friend have 
1 1 None in the wide world. Men of the world, as you and I are, 
don’t make friends ; and we are fools for our pains. Get a friend, 
sir, and that friend a woman — a good household drudge, who loves 
you. That is the most precious sort of friendship ; for the expense of 
it is all on the woman’s side. The man needn’t contribute anything. 
If he’s a rogue, she’ll vow he’s an angel ; if he’s a brute, she will 
like him all the better for his ill-treatment of her. They like it 
sir, these women. They are born to be our greatest comforts and 
conveniences ; our — our moral bootjacks, as it were ; and to men 
in your way of life, believe me such a person would be invalu- 
able. I am only speaking for your bodily and mental comfort’s 
sake, mind. Why didn’t I marry poor Helena Flower, the curate’s 
daughter ? ” 

I thought these speeches the remarks of a weakly disappointed 
man ; although since, perhaps, I have had reason to find the truth 
of Sir Charles Lyndon’s statements. The fact is, in my opinion, 
that we often buy money very much too dear. To purchase a few 
thousands a year at the expense of an odious wife, is very bad 
economy for a young fellow of any talent and spirit : and there 
have been moments of my life when, in the midst of my greatest 
splendour and opulence, with half-a-dozen lords at my lev^e, with 
the finest horses in my stables, the grandest house over my head, 
with unlimited credit at my banker’s, and — Lady Lyndon to boot, 
I have wished myself back a private of Billow’s, or anything, so 
as to get rid of her. To return, however, to the story. Sir Charles, 
with his complication of ills, was dying before us by inches ; and 
I’ve no doubt it could not have been very pleasant to him to see 
a young handsome fellow paying court to his widow before his own 
face as it were. After I once got into the house on the transub- 
stantiation dispute, I found a dozen more occasions to improve my 
intimacy, and was scarcely ever out of her Ladyship’s doors. The 


168 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

world talked and blustered ; but what cared I ? The men cried 
fie upon the shameless Irish adventurer ; but I have told my way 
of silencing such envious people ; and my sword had by this time 
got such a reputation through Europe, that few people cared to en- 
counter it. If I can once get my hold of a place, I keep it. Many’s 
the house I have been to where I have seen the men avoid me. 
“ Faugh ! the low Irishman ! ” they would say. “ Bah ! the coarse 
adventurer ! ” “ Out on the insufferable blackleg and puppy ! ” 

and so forth. This hatred has been of no inconsiderable service 
to me in the world ; for when I fasten on a man, nothing can 
induce me to release my hold : and I am left to myself, which is 
all the better. As I told Lady Lyndon in those days, with perfect 
sincerity, “ Calista” (I used to call her Calista in my correspondence) 
— “ Calista, I swear to thee, by the spotlessness of thy own soul, 
by the brilliancy of thy immitigable eyes, by everything pure and 
chaste in heaven and in thy own heart, that I will never cease from 
following thee ! Scorn I can bear, and have borne at thy hands. 
Indifference I can surmount ; ’tis a rock which my energy will 
climb over, a magnet which attracts the dauntless iron of my 
soul ! ” And it was true, I wouldn’t have left her — no, though 
they had kicked me downstairs every day I presented myself at 
her door. 

That is my way of fascinating women. Let the man who has to 
make his fortune in life remember this maiim. Attacking is his 
only secret. Dare, and the world always yields : or, if it beat you 
sometimes, dare again, and it will succumb. In those days my spirit 
was so great, that if I had set my heart upon marrying a princess of 
the blood, I would have had her ! 

I told Calista my story, and altered very very little of the truth. 
My object was to frighten her : to show her that what I wanted, 
that I dared ; that what I dared, that I won ; and there were striking 
passages enough in my history to convince her of my iron will and 
indomitable courage. “Never hope to escape me, madam,” I would 
say : “ offer to marry another man, and he dies upon this sword, 
which never yet met its master. Fly from me, and I will follow you, 
though it were to the gates of Hades.” I promise you this was very 
different language to that she had been in the habit of hearing from 
her Jemmy- Jessamy adorers. You should have seen how I scared 
the fellows from her ! 

When I said in this energetic way that I would follow Lady 
Lyndon across the Styx if necessary, of course I meant that I would 
do so, provided nothing more suitable presented itself in the interim. 
If Lyndon would not die, where was the use of my pursuing the 
Countess 1 And somehow, towards the end of the Spa season, very 


LADY LYNDON BECOMES A WIDOW 169 

much to my mortification I do confess, the knight made another rally : 
it seemed as if nothing would kill him. “ I am sorry for you, Captain 
Barry,” he would say, laughing as usual. “ I’m grieved to keep 
you, or any gentleman, waiting. Had you not better arrange with 
my doctor, or get the cook to flavour my omelette with arsenic ? 
What are the odds, gentlemen,” he would add, “ that I don’t live to 
see Captain Barry hanged yet ? ” 

In fact the doctors tinkered him up for a year. “ It’s my usual 
luck,” I could not help saying to my uncle, who was my confidential 
and most excellent adviser in all matters of the heart. “ I’ve been 
wasting the treasures of my affections upon that flirt of a Countess, 
and here’s her husband restored to health and likely to live I don’t 
know how many years ! ” And as if to add to my mortification, 
there came just at this period to Spa, an English tallow-chandler’s 
heiress, with a plum to her fortune ; and Madame Cornu, the widow 
of a Norman cattle-dealer and farmer-general, with a dropsy and 
two hundred thousand livres a year. 

“ What’s the use of my following the Lyndons to England,” says 
I, “if the knight won’t die ? ” 

“ Don’t follow them, my dear simple child,” replied my uncle. 
“ Stop here and pay court to the new arrivals.” 

“Yes, and lose Calista for ever, and the greatest estate in all 
England.” 

“ Pooh, pooh ! youths like you easily fire and easily despond. 
Keep up a correspondence with Lady Lyndon. You know there’s 
nothing she likes so much. There’s the Irish abb£, who will write 
you the most charming letters for a crown apiece. Let her go ; 
write to her, and meanwhile look out for anything else which may 
turn up. Who knows? you might marry the Norman widow, bury 
her, take her money, and be ready for the Countess against the 
knight’s death.” 

And so, with vows of the most profound respectful attachment, 
and, having given twenty louis to Lady Lyndon’s waiting-woman 
for a lock of her hair (of which fact, of course, the woman informed 
her mistress), I took leave of the Countess, when it became neces- 
sary for her return to her estates in England ; swearing I would 
follow her as soon as an affair of honour I had on my hands could 
be brought to an end. 

I shall pass over the events of the year that ensued before I 
again saw her. She wrote to me according to promise ; with much 
regularity at first, with somewhat less frequency afterwards. My 
affairs, meanwhile, at the play-table went on not unprosperously, 
and I was just on the point of marrying the widow Cornu (we were 
at Brussels by this time, and the poor soul was madly in love with 


170 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

me), when the London Gazette was put into my hands, and I read 
the following announcement : — 

“ Died at Castle Lyndon, in the kingdom of Ireland, the Right 
Honourable Sir Charles Lyndon, Knight of the Bath, Member of 
Parliament for Lyndon in Devonshire, and many years his Majesty’s 
representative at various European Courts. He hath left behind 
him a name which is endeared to all his friends for his manifold 
virtues and talents, a reputation justly acquired in the service of 
his Majesty, and an inconsolable widow to deplore his loss. Her 
Ladyship, the bereaved Countess of Lyndon, was at the Bath when 
the horrid intelligence reached her of her husband’s, demise, and 
hastened to Ireland immediately in order to pay her last sad duties 
to his beloved remains.” 

That very night I ordered my chariot and posted to Ostend, 
whence I freighted a vessel to Dover, and travelling rapidly into the 
West, reached Bristol ; from which port I embarked for Waterford, 
and found myself, after an absence of eleven years, in my native 
country. 


CHAPTER XIV 


I RETURN TO IRELAND, AND EXHIBIT MY SPLENDOUR 
AND GENEROSITY IN THAT KINGDOM 

H OW were times changed with me now ! I had left my 
country a poor penniless boy — a private soldier in a miser- 
able marching regiment. I returned an accomplished man, 
with property to the amount of five thousand guineas in my posses- 
sion, with a splendid wardrobe and jewel-case worth two thousand 
more ; having mingled in all the scenes of life a not undistinguished 
actor in them ; having shared in war and in love ; having by my 
own genius and energy won my way from poverty and obscurity 
to competence and splendour. As I looked out from my chariot 
windows as it rolled along over the bleak bare roads, by the 
miserable cabins of the peasantry, who came out in their rags to 
stare as the splendid equipage passed, and huzzaed for his Lord- 
ship’s honour as they saw the magnificent stranger in the superb 
gilded vehicle, my huge body-servant Fritz lolling behind with 
curling moustaches and long queue, his green livery barred with 
silver lace, I could not help thinking of myself with considerable 
complacency, and thanking my stars that had endowed me with 
so many good qualities. But for my own merits I should have 
been a raw Irish squireen such as those I saw swaggering about 
the wretched towns through which my chariot passed on its road 
to Dublin. I might have married Nora Brady (and though, thank 
Heaven, I did not, I have never thought of that girl but with 
kindness, and even remember the bitterness of losing her more 
clearly at this moment than any other incident of my life) ; I 
might have been the father of ten children by this time, or a 
farmer on my own account, or an agent to a squire, or a gauger, 
or an attorney ; and here I was one of the most famous gentlemen 
of Europe ! I bade my fellow get a bag of copper money and 
throw it among the crowd as we changed horses ; and I warrant 
me there was as much shouting set up in praise of my honour as 
if my Lord Townshend, the Lord Lieutenant himself, had been 
passing. 

My second day’s journey — for the Irish roads were rough in 


172 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

those days, and the progress of a gentleman’s chariot terribly slow 
— brought me to Carlow, where I put up at the very inn which 
I had used eleven years back, when flying from home after the 
supposed murder of Quin in the duel. How well I remember 
every moment of the scene ! The old landlord was gone who had 
served me; the inn that I then thought so comfortable looked 
wretched and dismantled; but the claret was as good as in the 
old days, and I had the host to partake of a jug of it and hear 
the news of the country. 

He was as communicative as hosts usually are : the crops and 
the markets, the price of beasts at last Castle Dermot fair, the 
last story about the vicar, and the last joke of Father Hogan the 
priest ; how the Whiteboys had burned Squire Scanlan’s ricks, and 
the highwaymen had been beaten off in their attack upon Sir 
Thomas’s house; who was to hunt the Kilkenny hounds next 
season, and the wonderful run entirely they had last March ; what 
troops were in the town, and how Miss Biddy Toole had run oft’ 
with Ensign Mullins : all the news of sport, assize, and quarter- 
sessions were detailed by this worthy chronicler of sinall-beer, who 
wondered that my honour hadn’t heard of them in England, or in 
foreign parts, where he seemed to think the world was as interested 
as he was about the doings of Kilkenny and Carlow. I listened 
to these tales with, I own, a considerable pleasure ; for every now 
and then a name would come up in the conversation which I re- 
membered in old days, and bring with it a hundred associations 
connected with them. 

I had received many letters from my mother, which informed me 
of the doings of the Brady’s Town family. My uncle was dead, and 
Mick, his eldest son, had followed him too to the grave. The Brady 
girls had separated from their paternal roof as soon as their elder* 
brother came to rule over it. Some were married, some gone to 
settle with their odious old mother in out-of-the-way Catering-places. 
Ulick, though he had succeeded to the estate, had come in fgftf a 
bankrupt property, and Castle Brady was now inhabited only by 
the bats and owls, and the old gamekeeper. My mother, Mrs. 
Harry Barry, had gone to live at Bray, to sit under Mr. Jowls, her 
favourite preacher, who had a chapel there ; and, finally, the land- 
lord told me, that Mrs. Barry’s son had gone to foreign parts, enlisted 
in the Prussian service, and had been shot there as a deserter. 

I don’t care to own that I hired a stout nag from the landlord’s 
stable after dinner, and rode back at nightfall twenty miles to my 
old home. My heart beat to see it. Barryville had got a pestle 
and mortar over the door, and was called “ The Esculapian Reposi- 
tory,” by Doctor Macshane ; a red-headed lad was spreading a 


I REVISIT MY OLD HOME 


173 


plaster in the old parlour ; the little window of my room, once so 
neat and bright, was cracked in many places, and stuffed with rags 
here and there ; the flowers had disappeared from the trim garden- 
beds which my good orderly mother tended. In the churchyard 
there were two more names put into the stone over the family vault 
of the Bradys : they were those of my cousin, for whom my regard 
was small, and my uncle, whom I had always loved. I asked my 
old companion the blacksmith, who had beaten me so often in old 
days, to give my horse a feed and a litter : he was a worn weary- 
looking man now, with a dozen dirty ragged children paddling about 
his smithy, and had no recollection of the fine gentleman who stood 
before him. I did not seek to recall myself to his memory till the 
next day, when I put ten guineas into his hand, and bade him drink 
the health of English Redmond. 

As for Castle Brady, the gates of the park were still there ; but 
the old trees were cut down in the avenue, a black stump jutting 
out here and there, and casting long shadows as I passed in the 
moonlight over the worn grass-grown old road. A few cows were at 
pasture there. The garden-gate was gone, and the place a tangled 
wilderness. I sat down on the old bench, where I had sat on the 
day when Nora jilted me ; and I do believe my feelings were as 
strong then as they had been when I was a boy, eleven years 
before ; and I caught myself almost crying again, to think that 
Nora Brady had deserted me. I believe a man forgets nothing. 
I’ve seen a flower, or heard some trivial word or two, which have 
awakened recollections that somehow had lain dormant for scores of 
years ; and when I entered the house in Clarges Street, where I was 
born (it was used as a gambling-house when I first visited London), 
all of a sudden the memory of my childhood came back to me — of 
my actual infancy : I recollected my father in green and gold, hold- 
ing me up to look at a gilt coach which stood at the door, and my 
mother in a flowered sack, with patches on her face. Some day, I 
wonder, will everything we have seen and thought and done come 
and flash across our minds in this way ? I had rather not. I felt 
so as I sat upon the bench at Castle Brady, and thought of the 
bygone times. 

The hall-door was open — it was always so at that house ; the 
moon was flaring in at the long old windows, and throwing ghastly 
chequers upon the floors ; and the stars were looking in on the other 
side, in the blue of the yawning window over the great stair : from 
it you could see the old stable-clock, with the letters glistening on it 
still. There had been jolly horses in those stables once ; and I 
could see my uncle’s honest face, and hear him talking to his dogs 
as they came jumping and whining and barking round about him of 


174 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

a gay winter morning. We used to mount there ; and the girls 
looked out at us from the hall-window, where I stood and looked at 
the sad, mouldy, lonely old place. There was a red light shining 
through the crevices of a door at one corner of the building, and a 
dog presently came out baying loudly, and a limping man followed 
with a fowling-piece. 

“ Who’s there ? ” said the old man. 

“ Phil Purcell, don’t you know me 1 ” shouted I ; “ it’s Red- 
mond Barry.” 

I thought the old man would have fired his piece at me at first, 
for he pointed it at the window ; but I called to him to hold his 
hand, and came down and embraced him. . . . Psha ! I don’t 
care to tell the rest : Phil and I had a long night, and talked 
over a thousand foolish old things that have no interest for any 
soul alive now : for what soul is there alive that cares for Barry 
Lyndon ? 

I settled a hundred guineas on the old man when I got to Dublin, 
and made him an annuity which enabled him to pass his old days 
in comfort. 

Poor Phil Purcell was amusing himself at a game of exceedingly 
dirty cards with an old acquaintance of mine ; no other than Tim, 
who was called my “valet” in the days of yore, and whom the 
reader may remember as clad in my father’s 1 old liveries. They used 
to hang about him in those times, and lap over his wrists and down 
to his heels ; but Tim, though he protested he had nigh killed him- 
self with grief when I went away, had managed to grow enormously 
fat in my absence, and would have fitted almost into Daniel Lambert’s 
coat, or that of the vicar of Castle Brady, whom he served in the 
capacity of clerk. I would have engaged the fellow in my service 
but for his monstrous size, which rendered him quite unfit to be the 
attendant of any gentleman of condition; and so I presented him 
with a handsome gratuity, and promised to stand godfather to his 
next child : the eleventh since my absence. There is no country in 
the world where the work of multiplying is carried on so prosperously 
as in my native island. Mr. Tim had married the girls’ waiting- 
maid, who had been a kind friend of mine in the early times ; and 
I had to go salute poor Molly next day, and found her a slatternly 
wench in a mud hut, surrounded by a brood of children almost as 
ragged as those of my friend the blacksmith. 

From Tim and Phil Purcell, thus met fortuitously together, I 
got the very last news respecting my family. My mother was well. 

“ ’Faith, sir,” says Tim, “ and you’re come in time, mayhap, 
for preventing an addition to your family.” 

“ Sir ! ” exclaimed I, in a fit of indignation. 


SCENES OF MY BOYHOOD 175 

“ In the shape of father-in-law, I mane y sir,” says Tim ; “ the 
misthress is going to take on with Mister Jowls the praacher” 

Poor Nora, he added, had made many additions to the illustrious 
race of Quin ; and my cousin Ulick was in Dublin, coming to little 
good, both my informants feared, and having managed to run through 
the small available remains of property which my good old uncle had 
left behind him. 

I saw I should have no small family to provide for ; and then, to 
conclude the evening, Phil, Tim, and I had a bottle of usquebaugh, 
the taste of which I had remembered for eleven good years, and did 
not part except with the warmest terms of fellowship, and until the 
sun had been some time in the sky. I am exceedingly affable : that 
has always been one of my characteristics. I have no false pride, as 
many men of high lineage like my own have, and, in default of 
better company, will hob and nob with a ploughboy or a private 
soldier just as readily as with the first noble in the land. 

I went back to the village in the morning, and found a pretext 
for visiting Barry ville under a device of purchasing drugs. The 
hooks were still in the wall where my silver-hilted sword used to 
hang; a blister was lying on the window-sill, where my mother’s 
“Whole Duty of Man” had its place; and the odious Doctor 
Macshane had found out who I was (my countrymen find out every- 
thing, and a great deal more besides), and sniggering, asked me how 
I left the King of Prussia, and whether my friend the Emperor 
Joseph was as much liked as the Empress Maria Theresa had been. 
The bell-ringers would have had a ring of bells for me, but there 
was but one, Tim, who was too fat to pull ; and I rode off before 
the vicar, Doctor Bolter (who had succeeded old Mr. Texter, who 
had the living in my time), had time to come out to compliment 
me ; but the rapscallions of the beggarly village had assembled in a 
dirty army to welcome me, and cheered “ Hurrah for Masther 
Redmond ! ” as I rode away. 

My people were not a little anxious regarding me, by the time 
I returned to Carlow, and the landlord was very much afraid, he 
said, that the highwaymen had gotten hold of me. There, too, my 
name and station had been learned from my servant Fritz ; who had 
not spared his praises of his master, and had invented some magnifi- 
cent histories concerning me. He said it was the truth that I was 
intimate with half the sovereigns of Europe, and the prime favourite 
with most of them. Indeed I had made my uncle’s order of the 
Spur hereditary, and travelled under the name of the Chevalier 
Barry, chamberlain to the Duke of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen. 

They gave me the best horses the stable possessed to carry me 
on my road to Dublin, and the strongest ropes for harness ; and we 


176 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

got on pretty well, and there was no rencontre between the highway- 
men and the pistols with which Fritz and I were provided. We 
lay that night at Kilcullen, and the next day I made my entry into 
the city of Dublin, with four horses to my carriage, five thousand 
guineas in my purse, and one of the most brilliant reputations in 
Europe, having quitted the city a beggarly boy, eleven years 
before. 

The citizens of Dublin have as great and laudable a desire for 
knowing their neighbours’ concerns as the country people have ; 
and it is impossible for a gentleman, however modest his desires 
may be (and such mine have notoriously been through life), to enter 
the capital without having his name printed in every newspaper 
and mentioned in a number of societies. My name and titles were 
all over the town the day after my arrival. A great number of 
polite persons did me the honour to call at my lodgings, when I 
selected them ; and this was a point very necessarily of immediate 
care, for the hotels in the town were but vulgar holes, unfit for a 
nobleman of my fashion and elegance. I had been informed of the 
fact by travellers on the Continent ; and determining to fix on a 
lodging at once, I bade the drivers go slowly up and down the streets 
with my chariot, until I had selected a place suitable to my rank. 
This proceeding, and the uncouth questions and behaviour of my 
German Fritz, who was instructed to make inquiries at the different 
houses until convenient apartments could be lighted upon, brought 
an immense mob round my coach ; and by the time the rooms were 
chosen you might have supposed I was the new General of the 
Forces, so great was the multitude following us. 

I fixed at length upon a handsome suite of apartments in Capel 
Street, paid the ragged postillions who had driven me a splendid 
gratuity, and establishing myself in the rooms with my baggage and 
Fritz, desired the landlord to engage me a second fellow to wear my 
liveries, a couple of stout reputable chairmen and their machine, 
and a coachman who had handsome job-horses to hire for my chariot, 
and serviceable riding-horses to sell. I gave him a handsome sum 
in advance ; and I promise you the effect of my advertisement was 
such, that next day I had a regular lev^e in my antechamber : 
grooms, valets, and maitres - d’hotel offered themselves without 
number; I had proposals for the purchase of horses sufficient to 
mount a regiment, both from dealers and gentlemen of the first 
fashion. Sir Lawler Gawler came to propose to me the most 
elegant bay-mare ever stepped; my Lord Dundoodle had a team 
of four that wouldn’t disgrace my friend the Emperor; and the 
Marquess of Ballyragget sent his gentleman and his compliments, 
stating that if I would step up to his stables, or do him the honour 


DUBLIN AS IT WAS IN 1771 


77 


of breakfasting with him previously, he would show me the two 
finest greys in Europe. I determined to accept the invitations of 
Dundoodle and Ballyragget, but to purchase my horses from the 
dealers. It is always the best way. Besides, in those days, in 
Ireland, if a gentleman warranted his horse, and it was not sound, 
or a dispute arose, the remedy you had was the offer of a bullet in 
your waistcoat. I had played at the bullet game too much in 
earnest to make use of it heedlessly : and I may say, proudly for 
myself, that I never engaged in a duel unless I had a real, available, 
and prudent reason for it. 

There was a simplicity about this Irish gentry which amused 
and made me wonder. If they tell more fibs than their downright 
neighbours across the water, on the other hand they believe more ; 
and I made myself in a single week such a reputation in Dublin as 
would take a man ten years and a mint of money to acquire in 
London. I had won five hundred thousand pounds at play ; I was 
the favourite of the Empress Catherine of Russia ; the confidential 
agent of Frederick of Prussia ; it was I won the battle of Hoch- 
kirchen ; I was the cousin of Madame Du Barry, the French King’s 
favourite, and a thousand things beside. Indeed, to tell the truth, 
I hinted a number of these stories to my kind friends Ballyragget 
and Gawler ; and they were not slow to improve the hints I gave 
them. 

After having witnessed the splendours of civilised life abroad, 
the sight of Dublin in the year 1771, when I returned thither, 
struck me with anything but respect. It was as savage as Warsaw 
almost, without the regal grandeur of the latter city. The people 
looked more ragged than any race I have ever seen, except the 
gipsy hordes along the banks of the Danube. There was, as I 
have said, not an inn in the town fit for a gentleman of condition 
to dwell in. Those luckless fellows who could not keep a carriage, 
and walked the streets at night, ran imminent risks of the knives 
of the women and ruffians who lay in wait there, — of a set of ragged 
savage villains, who neither knew the use of shoe nor razor ; and 
as a gentleman entered his chair or his chariot, to be carried to his 
evening rout, or the play, the flambeaux of the footmen would light 
up such a set of wild gibbering Milesian faces as would frighten a 
genteel person of average nerves. I was luckily endowed with strong 
ones ; besides, had seen my amiable countrymen before. 

I know this description of them will excite anger among some 
Irish patriots, who don’t like to have the nakedness of our land 
abused, and are angry if the whole truth be told concerning it. 
But bah ! it was a poor provincial place, Dublin, in the old days 
of which I speak; and many a tenth-rate German residency is 


178 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

more genteel. There were, it is true, near three hundred resident 
Peers at the period ; and a House of Commons ; and my Lord 
Mayor and his corporation; and a roystering noisy University, 
whereof the students made no small disturbances nightly, patronised 
the roundhouse, ducked obnoxious printers and tradesmen, and gave 
the law at the Crow Street Theatre. But I had seen too much of 
the first society of Europe to be much tempted by the society of 
these noisy gentry, and was a little too much of a gentleman to 
mingle with the disputes and politics of my Lord Mayor and his 
Aldermen. In the House of Commons there were some dozen of 
right pleasant fellows. I never heard in the English Parliament 
better speeches than from Flood, and Daly, of Galway. Dick 
Sheridan, though not a well-bred person, was as amusing and 
ingenious a table-companion as ever I met; and though during 
Mr. Edmund Burke’s interminable speeches in the English House 
I used always to go to sleep, I yet have heard from well-informed 
parties that Mr. Burke was a person of considerable abilities, and 
even reputed to be eloquent in his more favourable moments. 

I soon began to enjoy to the full extent the pleasures that the 
wretched place affords, and which were within a gentleman’s reach : 
Ranelagh and the Ridotto ; Mr. Mossop, at Crow Street ; my Lord 
Lieutenant’s parties, where there was a great deal too much boozing, 
and too little play, to suit a person of my elegant and refined 
habits; “Daly’s Coffee-house,” and the houses of the nobility, were 
soon open to me ; and I remarked with astonishment in the higher 
circles, what I had experienced in the lower on my first unhappy 
visit to Dublin, an extraordinary want of money, and a preposterous 
deal of promissory notes flying about, for which I was quite un- 
willing to stake my guineas. The ladies, too, were mad for play ; 
but exceeding unwilling to pay when they lost. Thus, when the 
old Countess of Trumpington lost ten pieces to me at quadrille, she 
gave me, instead of the money, her Ladyship’s note of hand on her 
agent in Galway ; which I put, with a great deal of politeness, into 
the candle. But when the Countess made me a second proposition 
to play, I said that as soon as her Ladyship’s remittances were 
arrived, I would be the readiest person to meet her ; but till then 
was her very humble servant. And I maintained this resolution 
and singular character throughout the Dublin society : giving out 
at “Daly’s” that I was ready to play any man, for any sum, at 
any game ; or to fence with him, or to ride with him (regard being 
had to our weight), or to shoot flying, or at a mark ; and in this 
latter accomplishment, especially if the mark be a live one, Irish 
gentlemen of that day had no ordinary skill. 

Of course I despatched a courier in my liveries to Castle Lyndon 


I OPEN MY ATTACK ON LADY LYNDON 179 

with a private letter for Runt, demanding from him full particulars 
of the Countess of Lyndon’s state of health and mind ; and a touch- 
ing and eloquent letter to her Ladyship, in which I bade her 
remember ancient days, which I tied up with a single hair from 
the lock which I had purchased from her woman, and in which I 
told her that Sylvander remembered his oath, and could never 
forget his Calista. The answer I received from her was exceed- 
ingly unsatisfactory and inexplicit; that from Mr. Runt explicit 
enough, but not at all pleasant in its contents. My Lord George 
Poynings, the Marquess of Tiptoffs younger son, was paying very 
marked addresses to the widow; being a kinsman of the family, 
and having been called to Ireland relative to the will of the deceased 
Sir Charles Lyndon. 

Now, there was a sort of rough-and-ready law in Ireland in those 
days, which was of great convenience to persons desirous of expedi- 
tious justice : and of which the newspapers of the time contain a 
hundred proofs. Fellows with the nicknames of Captain Fireball, 
Lieutenant Buffcoat, and Ensign Steele, were repeatedly sending 
warning letters to landlords, and murdering them if the notes were 
unattended to. The celebrated Captain Thunder ruled in the southern 
counties, and his business seemed to be to procure wives for gentle- 
men who had not sufficient means to please the parents of the young 
ladies ; or, perhaps, had not time for a long and intricate courtship. 

I had found my cousin LTlick at Dublin, grown very fat, and 
very poor ; hunted up by Jews and creditors ; dwelling in all sorts 
of queer corners, from which he issued at nightfall to the Castle, or 
to his card-party at his tavern ; but he was always the courageous 
fellow : and I hinted to him the state of my affections regarding 
Lady Lyndon. 

“The Countess of Lyndon !” said poor Ulick; “well, that is a 
wonder. I myself have been mightily sw^et upon a young lady, one 
of the Kiljoys of Bally hack, who has ten thousand pounds to her 
fortune, and to whom her Ladyship is guardian ; but how is a poor 
fellow without a coat to his back to get on with an heiress in such 
company as that 1 I might as well propose for the Countess myself.” 

“ You had better not,” said I, laughing ; “ the man who tries 
runs a chance of going out of the world first.” And I explained to 
him my own intention regarding Lady Lyndon. Honest Ulick, 
whose respect for me was prodigious when he saw how splendid my 
appearance was, and heard how wonderful my adventures and great 
my experience of fashionable life had been, was lost in admiration of 
my daring and energy, when I confided to him my intention of marry- 
ing the greatest heiress in England. 

I bade Ulick go out of town on any pretext he choose, and put a 


180 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

letter into a post-office near Castle Lyndon, which I prepared in a 
feigned hand, and in which I gave a solemn warning to Lord George 
Poynings to quit the country ; saying that the great prize was never 
meant for the likes of him, and that there were heiresses enough in 
England, without coming to rob them out of the domains of Captain 
Fireball. The letter was written on a dirty piece of paper, in the 
worst of spelling : it came to my Lord by the post-conveyance, and, 
being a high-spirited young man, he of course laughed at it. 

As ill-luck would have it for him, he appeared in Dublin a very 
short time afterwards ; was introduced to the Chevalier Redmond 
Barry, at the Lord Lieutenant’s table ; adjourned with him and 
several other gentlemen to the club at “Daly’s,” and there, in a 
dispute abont the pedigree of a horse, in which everybody said I was 
in the right, words arose, and a meeting was the consequence. I had 
had no affair in Dublin since my arrival, and people were anxious to 
see whether I was equal to my reputation. I make no boast about 
these matters, but always do them when the time comes ; and poor 
Lord George, who had a neat hand and a quick eye enough, but was 
bred in the clumsy English school, only stood before my point until 
I had determined where I should hit him. 

My sword went in under his guard, and came out at his back. 
When he fell, he good-naturedly extended his hand to me, and said, 
“ Mr. Barry , I was wrong 1 ” I felt not very well at ease when the 
poor fellow made this confession ; for the dispute had been of my 
making, and, to tell the truth, I had never intended it should end 
in any other way than a meeting. 

He lay on his bed for four months with the effects of that wound ; 
and the same post which conveyed to Lady Lyndon the news of the 
duel, carried her a message from Captain Fireball to say, “ This is 

NUMBER ONE ! ” 

“ You, Ulick,” said I, “ shall be number two.” 

“ ’Faith,” said my cousin, “ one’s enough ! ” But I had my 
plan regarding him, and determined at once to benefit this honest 
fellow, and to forward my own designs upon the widow. 


CHAPTER XV 


I PAY COURT TO MY LADY LYNDON 


> my uncle’s attainder was not reversed for being out with the 



Pretender in 1745, it would have been inconvenient for 


* him to accompany his nephew to the land of our ancestors ; 
where, if not hanging, at least a tedious process of imprisonment, 
and a doubtful pardon, would have awaited the good old gentleman. 
In any important crisis of my life, his advice was always of advan- 
tage to me, and I did not fail to seek it at this juncture, and to 
implore his counsel as regarded my pursuit of the widow. I told 
him the situation of her heart, as I have described it in the last 
chapter ; of the progress that young Poynings had made in her 
affections, and of her forgetfulness of her old admirer ; and I got a 
letter, in reply, full of excellent suggestions, by which I did not fail 
to profit. 

The kind Chevalier prefaced it by saying, that he was for the 
present boarding in the Minorite convent at Brussels ; that he had 
thoughts of making his salut there, and retiring for ever from the 
world, devoting himself to the severest practices of religion. Mean- 
while he wrote with regard to the lovely widow : it was natural 
that a person of her vast wealth and not disagreeable person should 
have many adorers about her ; and that, as in her husband’s lifetime 
she had shown herself not at all disinclined to receive my addresses, 
I must make no manner of doubt I was not the first person whom 
she had so favoured ; nor was I likely to be the last. 

“I would, my dear child,” he added, “that the ugly attainder 
round my neck, and the resolution I have formed of retiring from a 
world of sin and vanity altogether, did not prevent me from coming 
personally to your aid in this delicate crisis of your affairs ; for, to 
lead them to a good end, it requires not only the indomitable courage, 
swagger, and audacity which you possess beyond any young man I 
have ever known ” (as for the “ swagger,” as the Chevalier calls it, I 
deny it in toto, being always most modest in my demeanour) ; “ but 
though you have the vigour to execute, you have not the ingenuity 
to suggest plans of conduct for the following out of a scheme that is 
likely to be long and difficult of execution. Would you have ever 


182 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

thought of the brilliant scheme of the Countess Ida, which so nearly 
made you the greatest fortune in Europe, but for the advice and 
experience of a poor old man, now making up his accounts with the 
world, and about to retire from it for good and all ? 

“ Well, with regard to the Countess of Lyndon, your manner of 
winning her is quite en Vair at present to me ; nor can I advise day 
by day, as I would I could, according to circumstances as they arise. 
But your general scheme should be this. If I remember the letters 
you used to have from her during the period of the correspondence 
which the silly woman entertained you with, much high-flown senti- 
ment passed between you ; and especially was written by her Lady- 
ship herself : she is a blue-stocking, and fond of writing ; she used to 
make her griefs with her husband the continual theme of her corre- 
spondence (as women will do). I recollect several passages in her 
letters bitterly deploring her fate in being united to one so unworthy 
of her. 

“ Surely, in the mass of billets you possess from her, there must 
be enough to compromise her. Look them well over, select passages, 
and threaten to do so. Write to her at first in the undoubting tone 
of a lover who has every claim upon her. Then, if she is silent, 
remonstrate, alluding to former promises from her ; producing proofs 
of her former regard for you ; vowing despair, destruction, revenge, 
if she prove unfaithful. Frighten her — astonish her by some daring 
feat, which will let her see your indomitable resolution : you are the 
man to do it. Your sword has a reputation in Europe, and you have 
a character for boldness ; which was the first thing that caused my 
Lady Lyndon to turn her eyes upon you. Make the people talk about 
you at Dublin. Be as splendid, and as brave, and as odd as possible. 
How I wish I were near you ! You have no imagination to invent 
such a character as I would make for you — but why speak ; have I 
not had enough of the world and its vanities ? ” 

There was much practical good sense in this advice ; which I 
quote, unaccompanied with the lengthened description of his mortifi- 
cations and devotions which my uncle indulged in, finishing his letters, 
as usual, with earnest prayers for my conversion to the true faith. 
But he was constant to his form of worship ; and I, as a man of 
honour and principle, was resolute to mine ; and have no doubt that 
the one, in this respect, will be as acceptable as the other. 

Under these directions it was, then, I wrote to Lady Lyndon, to 
ask on my arrival when the most respectful of her admirers might be 
permitted to intrude upon her grief? Then, as her Ladyship was 
silent, I demanded, Had she forgotten old times, and one whom she 
had favoured with her intimacy at a very happy period? Had 
Calista forgotten Eugenio ? At the same time I sent down by my 


MY MOTHER 


183 


servant with this letter a present of a little sword for Lord Bullingdon, 
and a private note to his governor : whose note of hand, by the way, 
I possessed for a sum — I forget what — but such as the poor fellow 
would have been very unwilling to pay. To this an answer came 
from her Ladyship’s amanuensis, stating that Lady Lyndon was too 
much disturbed by grief at her recent dreadful calamity to see any 
one but her own relations ; and advices from my friend, the boy’s 
governor, stating that my Lord George Poynings was the young kins- 
man who was about to console her. 

This caused the quarrel between me and the young nobleman ; 
whom I took care to challenge on his first arrival at Dublin. 

When the news of the duel was brought to the widow at Castle 
Lyndon, my informant wrote me that Lady Lyndon shrieked and 
flung down the journal, and said, “ The horrible monster ! He 
would not shrink from murder, I believe ; ” and little Lord Bullingdon, 
drawing his sword — the sword I had given him, the rascal ! — 
declared he would kill with it the man who had hurt Cousin George. 
On Mr. Runt telling him that I was the donor of the weapon, the 
little rogue still vowed that he would kill me all the same ! In- 
deed, in spite of my kindness to him, that boy always seemed to 
detest me. 

Her Ladyship sent up daily couriers to inquire after the health 
of Lord George ; and, thinking to myself that she would probably 
be induced to come to Dublin if she were to hear that he was in 
danger, I managed to have her informed that he was in a precarious 
state ; that he grew worse ; that Redmond Barry had fled in conse- 
quence : of this flight I caused the Mercury newspaper to give 
notice also, but indeed it did not carry me beyond the town of 
Bray, where my poor mother dwelt ; and where, under the difficulties 
of a duel, I might be sure of having a welcome. 

Those readers who have the sentiment of filial duty strong in 
their mind, will wonder that I have not yet described my interview 
with that kind mother whose sacrifices for me in youth had been 
so considerable, and for whom a man of my warm and affectionate 
nature could not but feel the most enduring and sincere regard. 

But a man, moving in the exalted sphere of society in which I 
now stood, has his public duties to perform before he consults his 
private affections; and so, upon my first arrival, I despatched a 
messenger to Mrs. Barry, stating my arrival, conveying to her my 
sentiments of respect and duty, and promising to pay them to 
her personally so soon as my business in Dublin would leave 
me free. 

This, I need not say, was very considerable. I had my horses 
to buy, my establishment to arrange, my entree into the genteel 


184 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

world to make; and, having announced my intention to purchase 
horses and live in a genteel style, was in a couple of days so pestered 
by visits of the nobility and gentry, and so hampered by invitations 
to dinners and suppers, that it became exceedingly difficult for 
me during some days to manage my anxiously desired visit to 
Mrs. Barry. 

It appears that the good soul provided an entertainment as soon 
as she heard of my arrival, and invited all her humble acquaintances 
of Bray to be present ; but I was engaged subsequently to my Lord 
Ballyragget on the day appointed, and was, of course, obliged to 
break the promise that I had made to Mrs. Barry to attend her 
humble festival. 

I endeavoured to sweeten the disappointment by sending my 
mother a handsome satin sack and velvet robe, which I purchased 
for her at the best mercers in Dublin (and indeed told her I had 
brought from Paris expressly for her) ; but the messenger whom I 
despatched with the presents brought back the parcels, with the 
piece of satin torn half way up the middle : and I did not need his 
descriptions to be aware that something had offended the good 
lady ; who came out, he said, and abused him at the door, and 
would have boxed his ears, but that she was restrained by a 
gentleman in black ; who I concluded, with justice, was her clerical 
friend Mr. Jowls. 

This reception of my presents made me rather dread than hope 
for an interview with Mrs. Barry, and delayed my visit to her for 
some days further. I wrote her a dutiful and soothing letter, to 
which there was no answer returned ; although I mentioned that on 
my way to the capital I had been at Barryville, and revisited the 
old haunts of my youth. 

I don’t care to own that she is the only human being whom I 
am afraid to face. I can recollect her fits of anger as a child, and 
the reconciliations, which used to be still more violent and painful ; 
and so, instead of going myself, I sent my factotum, Ulick Brady, 
to her ; who rode back, saying that he had met with a reception he 
would not again undergo for twenty guineas : that he had been 
dismissed the house, with strict injunctions to inform me that my 
mother disowned me for ever. This parental anathema, as it were, 
affected me much, for I was always the most dutiful of sons ; and 
I determined to go as soon as possible, and brave what I knew must 
be an inevitable scene of reproach and anger, for the sake, as I 
hoped, of as certain a reconciliation. 

I had been giving one night an entertainment to some of the 
genteelest company in Dublin, and was showing my Lord Marquis 
downstairs with a pair of wax tapers, when I found a woman in a 


I AM RECONCILED WITH MY MOTHER 185 

grey coat seated at my doorsteps : to whom, taking her for a beggar, 
I tendered a piece of money, and whom my noble friends, who were 
rather hot with wine, began to joke, as my door closed and I bade 
them all good-night. 

I was rather surprised and affected to find afterwards that the 
hooded woman was no other than my mother; whose pride had 
made her vow that she would not enter my doors, but whose natural 
maternal yearnings had made her long to see her son’s face once 
again, and who had thus planted herself in disguise at my gate. 
Indeed, I have found in my experience that these are the only 
-women who never deceive a man, and whose affection remains 
constant through all trials. Think of the hours that the kind soul 
must have passed, lonely in the street, listening to the din and 
merriment within my apartments, the clinking of the glasses, the 
laughing, the choruses, and the cheering. 

When my affair with Lord George happened, and it became 
necessary to me, for the reasons I have stated, to be out of the 
way ; now, thought I, is the time to make my peace with my good 
mother : she will never refuse me an asylum now that I seem in 
distress. So sending to her a notice that I was coming, that I had 
had a duel which had brought me into trouble, and required I should 
go into hiding, I followed my messenger half-an-hour afterwards : 
and, I warrant me, there was no want of a good reception, for 
presently, being introduced into an empty room by the barefooted 
maid who waited upon Mrs. Barry, the door was opened, and the 
poor mother flung herself into my arms with a scream, and with 
transports of joy which I shall not attempt to describe — they are 
but to be comprehended by women who have held in their arms an 
only child after a twelve years’ absence from him. 

The Reverend Mr. Jowls, my mother’s director, was the only 
person to whom the door of her habitation was opened during my 
sojourn ; and he would take no denial. He mixed for himself a 
glass of rum-punch, which he seemed in the habit of drinking at my 
good mother’s charge, groaned aloud, and forthwith began reading 
me a lecture upon the sinfulness of my past courses, and especially of 
the last horrible action I had been committing. 

“ Sinful ! ” said my mother, bristling up when her son was 
attacked; “sure we’re all sinners; and it’s you, Mr. Jowls, who 
have given me the inexpressible blessing to let me know that. But 
how else would you have had the poor child behave 'l ” 

“I would have had the gentleman avoid the drink; and the 
quarrel, and this wicked duel altogether,” answered the clergyman. 

But my mother cut him short, by saying such sort of conduct 
might be very well in a person of his cloth and his birth, but it 


186 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

neither became a Brady nor a Barry. In fact, she was quite 
delighted with the thought that I had pinked an English marquis’s 
son in a duel ; and so, to console her, I told her of a score more in 
which I had been engaged, and of some of which I have already 
informed the reader. 

As my late antagonist was in no sort of danger when I spread 
that report of his perilous situation, there was no particular call 
that my hiding should be very close. But the widow did not know 
the fact as well as I did ; and caused her house to be barricaded, 
and Becky, her barefooted serving-wench, to be a perpetual sentinel 
to give alarm, lest the officers should be in search of me. 

The only person I expected, however, was my cousin Ulick, who 
was to bring me the welcome intelligence of Lady Lyndon’s arrival ; 
and I own, after two days’ close confinement at Bray, in which I 
narrated all the adventures of my life to my mother, and succeeded 
in making her accept the dresses she had formerly refused, and a 
considerable addition to her income which I was glad to make, I was 
very glad when I saw that reprobate Ulick Brady, as my mother 
called him, ride up to the door in my carriage with the welcome 
intelligence for my mother, that the young lord was out of danger ; 
and for me, that the Countess of Lyndon had arrived in Dublin. 

“ And I wish, Redmond, that the young gentleman had been in 
danger a little longer,” said the widow, her eyes filling with tears, 
“and you’d have stayed so much the more with your poor old 
mother.” But I dried her tears, embracing her warmly, and 
promised to see her often ; and hinted I would have, mayhap, a 
house of my own and a noble daughter to welcome her. 

“ Who is she, Redmond, dear ? ” said the old lady. 

“ One of the noblest and richest women in the empire, mother,” 
answered I. “ No mere Brady this time,” I added, laughing : with 
which hopes I left Mrs. Barry in the best of tempers. 

No man can bear less malice than I do ; and, when I have once 
carried my point, I am one of the most placable creatures in the 
world. I was a week in Dublin before I thought it necessary to quit 
that capital. I had become quite reconciled to my rival in that 
time ; made a point of calling at his lodgings, and speedily became 
an intimate consoler of his bedside. He had a gentleman to whom 
I did not neglect to be civil, and towards whom I ordered my people 
to be particular in their attentions ; for I was naturally anxious to 
learn what my Lord George’s position with the lady of Castle Lyndon 
had really been, whether other suitors were about the widow, and 
how she would bear the news of his wound. 

The young nobleman himself enlightened me somewhat upon the 
subjects I was most desirous to inquire into. 


I CONSOLE MY WOUNDED RIVAL 187 

“ Chevalier,” said he to me one morning when I went to pay 
him my compliments, “ I find you are an old acquaintance with 
my kinswoman, the Countess of Lyndon. She writes me a page 
of abuse of you in a letter here ; and the strange part of the 
story is this, that one day when there was talk about you at 
Castle Lyndon, and the splendid equipage you were exhibiting 
in Dublin, the fair widow vowed and protested she never had 
heard of you. 

“ 1 Oh yes, mamma,’ said the little Bullingdon, ‘ the tall dark 
man at Spa wdth the cast in his eye, who used to make my governor 
tipsy and sent me the sword : his name is Mr. Barry.’ 

“ But my Lady ordered the boy out of the room, and persisted 
in knowing nothing about you.” 

“ And are you a kinsman and acquaintance of my Lady Lyndon, 
my Lord ? ” said I, in a tone of grave surprise. 

“ Yes, indeed,” answered the young gentleman. “ I left her 
house but to get this ugly wound from you. And it came at a most 
unlucky time too.” 

“ Why more unlucky now than at another moment 1 ? ” 

“ Why, look you, Chevalier. I think the widow was not im- 
partial to me. I think I might have induced her to make our 
connection a little closer : and faith, though she is older than I am, 
she is the richest party now in England.” 

“ My Lord George,” said I, “ will you let me ask you a frank 
but an odd question 1 — will you show me her letters ? ” 

“ Indeed I’ll do no such thing,” replied he, in a rage. 

“ Nay, don’t be angry. If I show you letters of Lady Lyndon’s 
to me, will you let me see hers to you ? ” 

“ What, in Heaven’s name, do you mean, Mr. Barry ? ” said 
the young gentleman. 

“ / mean that I passionately loved Lady Lyndon. I mean that 

I am a that I rather was not indifferent to her. I mean that I 

love her to distraction at this present moment, and will die myself, 
or kill the man who possesses her before me.” 

“ You marry the greatest heiress and the noblest blood in 
England ? ” said Lord George haughtily. 

“ There’s no nobler blood in Europe than mine,” answered I : 
“ and I tell you I don’t know whether to hope or not. But this I 
know, that there were days in which, poor as I am, the great heiress 
did not disdain to look down upon my poverty : and that any man 
who marries her passes over my dead body to do it. It’s lucky for 
you,” I added gloomily, “that on the occasion of my engagement 
with you, I did not know what were your views regarding my Lady 
Lyndon. My poor boy, you are a lad of courage, and I love you. 


188 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Mine is the first sword in Europe, and you would have been lying in 
a narrower bed than that you now occupy.” 

“ Boy ! ” said Lord George, “lam not four years younger than 
you are.” 

“You are forty years younger than I am in experience. I have 
passed through every grade of life. With my own skill and daring 
I have made my own fortune. I have been in fourteen pitched 
battles as a private soldier, and have been twenty-three times on the 
ground, and never was touched but once ; and that was by the sword 
of a French maitre-d’armes, whom I killed. I started in life at 
seventeen, a beggar, and am now at seven-and-twenty, with twenty 
thousand guineas. Do you suppose a man of my courage and energy 
can’t attain anything that he dares, and that having claims upon the 
widow, I will not press them 1 ” 

This speech was not exactly true to the letter (for I had multi- 
plied my pitched battles, my duels, and my wealth somewhat) ; 
but I saw that it made the impression I desired to effect upon the 
young gentleman’s mind, who listened to my statement with peculiar 
seriousness, and whom I presently left to digest it. 

A couple of days afterwards I called to see him again, when 
I brought with me some of the letters that had passed be- 
tween me and my Lady Lyndon. “Here,” said I, “look — I 
show it you in confidence — it is a lock of her Ladyship’s hair; 
here are her letters signed Calista, and addressed to Eugenio. Here 
is a poem, ‘When Sol bedecks the mead with light, And pallid 
Cynthia sheds her ray,’ addressed by her Ladyship to your humble 
servant.” 

“ Calista ! Eugenio ! Sol bedecks the mead with light ? ” cried 
the young lord. “Am I dreaming 1 ? Why, my dear Barry, the 
widow has sent me the very poem herself ! ‘ Rejoicing in the sun- 

shine bright, Or musing in the evening grey.’ ” 

I could not help laughing as he made the quotation. They 
were, in fact, the very words my Calista had addressed to me. 
And we found, upon comparing letters, that whole passages of 
eloquence figured in the one correspondence which appeared in the 
other. See what it is to be a blue-stocking and have a love of 
letter- writing ! 

The young man put down the papers in great perturbation. 

“Well, thank Heaven!” said he, after a pause of some dura- 
tion, — “ thank Heaven, for a good riddance ! Ah, Mr. Barry, what 
a woman I might have married had these lucky papers not come 
in my way ! I thought my Lady Lyndon had a heart, sir, I must 
confess, though not a very warm one ; and that, at least, one could 
trust her. But marry her now ! I would as lief send my servant 


CALISTA 189 

into the street to get me a wife, as put up with such an Ephesian 
matron as that.” 

“ My Lord George,” said I, “ you little know the world. Re- 
member what a bad husband Lady Lyndon had, and don’t be 
astonished that she, on her side, should be indifferent. Nor has 
she, I will dare to wager, ever passed beyond the bounds of harm- 
less gallantry, or sinned beyond the composing of a sonnet or a 
billet-doux.” 

“ My wife,” said the little lord, “ shall write no sonnets or 
billets-doux ; and I’m heartily glad to think I have obtained, in 
good time, a knowledge of the heartless vixen with whom I thought 
myself for a moment in love.” 

The wounded young nobleman was either, as I have said, very 
young and green in matters of the world — for to suppose that a 
man would give up forty thousand a year, because, forsooth, the 
lady connected with it had written a few sentimental letters to a 
young fellow, is too absurd — or, as I am inclined to believe, he 
was glad of an excuse to quit the field altogether, being by no 
means anxious to meet the victorious sword of Redmond Barry a 
second time. 

When the idea of Poynings’ danger, or the reproaches probably 
addressed by him to the widow regarding myself, had brought this 
exceedingly weak and feeble woman up to Dublin, as I expected, 
and my worthy Ulick had informed me of her arrival, I quitted 
my good mother, who was quite reconciled to me (indeed the duel 
had done that), and found the disconsolate Calista was in the habit 
of paying visits to the wounded swain; much to the annoyance, 
the servants told me, of that gentleman. The English are often 
absurdly high and haughty upon a point of punctilio; and, after 
his kinswoman’s conduct, Lord Poynings swore he would have no 
more to do with her. 

I had this information from his Lordship’s gentleman; with 
whom, as I have said, I took particular care to be friends ; nor 
was I denied admission by his porter, when I chose to call, as 
before. 

Her Ladyship had most likely bribed that person, as I had ; 
for she had found her way up, though denied admission; and, in 
fact, I had watched her from her own house to Lord George 
Poynings’ lodgings, and seen her descend from her chair there 
and enter, before I myself followed her. I proposed to await her 
quietly in the anteroom, to make a scene there, and reproach her 
with infidelity, if necessary; but matters were, as it happened, 
arranged much more conveniently for me, and walking, unannounced, 
into the outer room of his Lordship’s apartments, I had the felicity 


190 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

of hearing in the next chamber, of which the door was partially 
open, the voice of my Calista. She was in full cry, appealing to 
the poor patient, as he lay confined in his bed, and speaking in 
the most passionate manner. “What can lead you, George,” she 
said, “ to doubt of my faith ? How can you break my heart by 
casting me off* in this monstrous manner ? Do you wish to drive 
your poor Calista to the grave 1 ? Well, well, I shall join there the 
dear departed angel.” 

“Who entered it three months since,” said Lord George, with a 
sneer. “ It’s a wonder you have survived so long.” 

“Don’t treat your poor Calista in this cruel, cruel manner, 
Antonio ! ” cried the widow. 

“ Bah ! ” said Lord George, “ my wound is bad. My doctors 
forbid me much talk. Suppose your Antonio tired, my dear. 
Can’t you console yourself with somebody else 1 ” 

“ Heavens, Lord George ! Antonio ! ” 

“ Console yourself with Eugenio,” said the young nobleman 
bitterly, and began ringing his bell ; on which his valet, who was in 
an inner room, came out, and he bade him show her Ladyship 
downstairs. 

Lady Lyndon issued from the room in the greatest flurry. She 
was dressed in deep weeds, with a veil over her face, and did not 
recognise the person waiting in the outer apartment. As she went 
down the stairs, I stepped lightly after her, and as her chairman 
opened her door, sprang forward, and took her hand to place her in 
the vehicle. “Dearest widow,” said I, “his Lordship spoke cor- 
rectly. Console yourself with Eugenio ! ” She was too frightened 
even to scream, as her chairman carried her away. She was set 
down at her house, and you may be sure that I was at the chair- 
door, as before, to help her out. 

“Monstrous man ! ” said she, “I desire you to leave me.” 

“ Madam, it would be against my oath,” replied I ; “ recollect 
the vow Eugenio sent to Calista.” 

“ If you do not quit me, I will call for the domestics to turn 
you from the door.” 

“ What! when I am come with my Calista’s letters in my pocket, 
to return them mayhap 1 You can soothe, madam, but you cannot 
frighten Redmond Barry.” 

“ What is it you would have of me, sir 1 ” said the widow, 
rather agitated. 

“ Let me come upstairs, and I will tell you all,” I replied ; and 
she condescended to give me her hand, and to permit me to lead 
her from her chair to her drawing-room. 

When we were alone I opened my mind honourably to her. 


A PASSIONATE APPEAL 191 

“ Dearest madam,” said I, “do not let your cruelty drive a 
desperate slave to fatal measures. I adore you. In former days 
you allowed me to whisper my passion to you unrestrained ; at 
present you drive me from your door, leave my letters unanswered, 
and prefer another to me. My flesh and blood cannot bear such 
treatment. Look upon the punishment I have been obliged to 
inflict ; tremble at that which I may be compelled to administer to 
that unfortunate young man : so sure as he marries you, madam, 
he dies.” 

“ I do not recognise,” said the widow, “ the least right you have 
to give the law to the Countess of Lyndon : I do not in the least 
understand your threats, or heed them. What has passed between 
me and an Irish adventurer that should authorise this impertinent 
intrusion ? ” 

“ These have passed, madam,” said I, — “ Calista’s letters to 
Eugenio. They may have been very innocent ; but will the world 
believe it? You may have only intended to play with the heart of 
the poor artless Irish gentleman who adored and confided in you. 
But who will believe the stories of your innocence, against the 
irrefragable testimony of your own handwriting ? Who will believe 
that you could write these letters in the mere wantonness of coquetry, 
and not under the influence of affection ? ” 

“ Villain ! ” cried my Lady Lyndon, “ could you dare to construe 
out of those idle letters of mine any other meaning than that which 
they really bear ? ” 

“I will construe anything out of them,” said I; “such is the 
passion which animates me towards you. I have sworn it — you 
must and shall be mine ! Did you ever know me promise to accom- 
plish a thing and fail ? Which will you prefer to have from me — a 
love such as women never knew from man before, or a hatred to 
which there exists no parallel ? ” 

“ A woman of my rank, sir, can fear nothing from the hatred of 
an adventurer like yourself,” replied the lady, drawing up stately. 

“ Look at your Poynings — was he of your rank ? You are the 
cause of that young man’s wound, madam ; and, but that the instru- 
ment of your savage cruelty relented, would have been the author of 
his murder — yes, of his murder ; for, if a wife is faithless, does not 
she arm the husband who punishes the seducer ? And I look upon 
you, Honoria Lyndon, as my wife.” 

“ Husband ! wife, sir ! ” cried the widow, quite astonished. 

“Yes, wife ! husband ! I am not one of those poor souls with 
whom coquettes can play, and who may afterwards throw them aside. 
You would forget what passed between us at Spa : Calista would 
forget Eugenio ; but I will not let you forget me. You thought to 


192 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

trifle with my heart, did you ? When once moved, Honoria, it is 
moved for ever. I love you — love as passionately now as I did 
when my passion was hopeless ; and, now that I can win you, do 
you think I will forego you % Cruel, cruel Calista ! you little know 
the power of your own charms if you think their effect is so easily 
obliterated — you little know the constancy of this pure and noble 
heart if you think that, having once loved, it can ever cease to adore 
you. No ! I swear by your cruelty that I will revenge it ; by your 
wonderful beauty that I will win it, and be worthy to win it. 
Lovely, fascinating, fickle, cruel woman ! you shall be mine — I swear 
it ! Your wealth may be great ; but am I not of a generous nature 
enough to use it worthily 1 Your rank is lofty ; but not so lofty as 
my ambition. You threw yourself away once on a cold and spiritless 
debauchee : give yourself now, Honoria, to a man ; and one who, 
however lofty your rank may be, will enhance it and become it ! ” 

As I poured words to this effect out on the astonished widow, I 
stood over her, and fascinated her with the glance of my eye ; saw 
her turn red and pale with fear and wonder ; saw that my praise of 
her charms and the exposition of my passion were not unwelcome to 
her, and witnessed with triumphant composure the mastery I was gain- 
ing over her. Terror, be sure of that, is not a bad ingredient of love. 
A man who wills fiercely to win the heart of a weak and vapourish 
woman must succeed, if he have opportunity enough. 

“ Terrible man ! ” said Lady Lyndon, shrinking from me as soon 
as I had done speaking (indeed, I was at a loss for words, and think- 
ing of another speech to make to her) — “ terrible man ! leave me.” 

I saw that I had made an impression on her, from those very 
words. “ If she lets me into the house to-morrow,” said I, “ she is 
mine.” 

As I went downstairs I put ten guineas into the hand of the 
hall-porter, who looked quite astonished at such a gift. 

“ It is to repay you for the trouble of opening the door to me,” 
said I ; “ you will have to do so often.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


I PROVIDE NOBLY FOR MY FAMILY AND ATTAIN THE 
HEIGHT OF MY ( SEEMING ) GOOD FORTUNE 

T HE next day when I went back, my fears were realised : the 
door was refused to me — my Lady was not at home. This I 
knew to be false : I had watched the door the whole morning 
from a lodging I took at a house opposite. 

“ Your lady is not out,” said I : “ she has denied me, and I 
can’t, of course, force my way to her. But listen : you are an 
Englishman 1 ” 

“That I am,” said the fellow, with an air of the utmost 
superiority. “ Your honour could tell that by my haccent” 

I knew he was, and might therefore offer him a bribe. An Irish 
family servant in rags, and though his wages were never paid him, 
would probably fling the money in your face. 

“ Listen, then,” said I. “ Your lady’s letters pass through 
your hands, don’t they ] A crown for every one that you bring me 
to read. There is a whisky-shop in the next street ; bring them 
there when you go to drink, and call for me by the name of 
Dermot.” 

“ I recollect your honour at Spar ,” says the fellow, grinning : 
“seven’s the main, heh?” and being exceedingly proud of this 
reminiscence, I bade my inferior adieu. 

I do not defend this practice of letter-opening in private life, 
except in cases of the most urgent necessity : when we must follow 
the examples of our betters, the statesmen of all Europe, and, for 
the sake of a great good, infringe a little matter of ceremony. My 
Lady Lyndon’s letters were none the worse for being opened, and a 
great deal the better ; the knowledge obtained from the perusal of 
some of her multifarious epistles enabling me to become intimate 
with her character in a hundred ways, and obtain a power over her 
by which I was not slow to profit. By the aid of the letters and 
of my English friend, whom I always regaled with the best of 
liquor, and satisfied with presents of money still more agreeable (I 
used to put on a livery in order to meet him, and a red wig, in 
which it was impossible to know the dashing and elegant Redmond 
4 N 


194 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Barry), I got such an insight into the widow’s movements as 
astonished her. I knew beforehand to what public places she would 
go : they were, on account of her widowhood, but few ; and wherever 
she appeared, at church or in the park, I was always ready to offer 
her her book, or to canter on horseback by the side of her 
chariot. 

Many of her Ladyship’s letters were the most whimsical 
rodomontades that ever blue-stocking penned. She was a woman 
who took up and threw off a greater number of dear friends than 
any one I ever knew. To some of these female darlings she began 
presently to write about my unworthy self, and it was with a senti- 
ment of extreme satisfaction I found at length that the widow was 
growing dreadfully afraid of me ; calling me her bete noire , her 
dark spirit, her murderous adorer, and a thousand other names 
indicative of her extreme disquietude and terror. It was : “ The 
wretch has been dogging my chariot through the park,” or, “my 
fate pursued me at church,” and “ my inevitable adorer handed me out 
of my chair at the mercer’s,” or what not. My wish was to increase 
this sentiment of awe in her bosom, and to make her believe that I 
was a person from whom escape was impossible. 

To this end I bribed a fortune-teller, whom she consulted along 
with a number of the most foolish and distinguished people of 
Dublin, in those days ; and who, although she went dressed like 
one of her waiting-women, did not fail to recognise her real rank, 
and to describe as her future husband her persevering adorer 
Redmond Barry, Esquire. This incident disturbed her very much. 
She wrote about it in terms of great wonder and terror to her 
female correspondents. “Can this monster,” she Wrote, “indeed 
do as he boasts, and bend even Fate to his will ? — can he make me 
marry him though I cordially detest him, and bring me a slave to 
his feet 1 The horrid look of his black serpent-like eyes fascinates 
and frightens me : it seems to follow me everywhere, and even 
when I close my own eyes, the dreadful gaze penetrates the lids, 
and is still upon me.” 

When a woman begins to talk of a man in this way, he is an ass 
who does not win her ; and, for my part, I used to follow her about, 
and put myself in an attitude opposite her, “ and fascinate her with 
my glance,” as she said, most assiduously. Lord George Poynings, 
her former admirer, was meanwhile keeping his room with his wound, 
and seemed determined to give up all claims to her favour ; for he 
denied her admittance when she called, sent no answer to her multi- 
plied correspondence, and contented himself by saying generally, that 
the surgeon had forbidden him to receive visitors or to answer letters. 
Thus, while he went into the background, I came forward, and took 



THE INTERCEPTED LETTERS 










































i 




















I MEDITATE A SCHEME 196 

good care that no other rivals should present themselves with any 
chance of success ; for, as soon as I heard of one, I had a quarrel 
fastened on him, and, in this way, pinked two more, besides my first 
victim Lord George. I always took another pretext for quarrelling 
with them than the real one of attention to Lady Lyndon, so that 
no scandal or hurt to her Ladyship’s feelings might arise in conse- 
quence ; but she very well knew what was the meaning of these 
duels : and the young fellows of Dublin, too, by laying two and two 
together, began to perceive that there was a certain dragon in watch 
for the wealthy heiress, and that the dragon must be subdued first 
before they could get at the lady. I warrant that, after the first 
three, not many champions were found to address the lady ; and have 
often laughed (in my sleeve) to see many of the young Dublin beaux 
riding by the side of her carriage scamper off as soon as my bay -mare 
and green liveries made their appearance. 

I wanted to impress her with some great and awful instance of 
my power, and to this end had determined to confer a great benefit 
upon my honest cousin Ulick, and carry off for him the fair object 
of his affections, Miss Kiljoy, under the very eyes of her guardian 
and friend, Lady Lyndon ; and in the teeth of the squires, the young 
lady’s brothers, who passed the season at Dublin, and made as much 
swagger and to-do about their sister’s £10,000 Irish, as if she had 
had a plum to her fortune. The girl was by no means averse to Mr. 
Brady ; and it only shows how faint-spirited some men are, and how 
a superior genius can instantly overcome difficulties which to common 
minds seem insuperable, that he never had thought of running off 
with her : as I at once and boldly did. Miss Kiljoy had been a ward 
in Chancery until she attained her majority (before which period it 
would have been a dangerous matter for me to put in execution the 
scheme I meditated concerning her) ; but, though now free to marry 
whom she liked, she was a young lady of timid disposition, and as 
much under fear of her brothers and relatives as though she had not 
been independent of them. They had some friend of their own in 
view for the young lady, and had scornfully rejected the proposal of 
Ulick Brady, the ruined gentleman ; who was quite unworthy, as 
these rustic bucks thought, of the hand of such a prodigiously wealthy 
heiress as their sister. 

Finding herself lonely in her great house in Dublin, the Countess 
of Lyndon invited her friend Miss Amelia to pass the season with 
her at Dublin ; and, in a fit of maternal fondness, also sent for her 
son the little Bullingdon, and my old acquaintance his governor, to 
come to the capital and bear her company. A family coach brought 
the boy, the heiress, and the tutor from Castle Lyndon ; and I deter- 
mined to take the first opportunity of putting my plan in execution. 


196 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

For this chance I had not very long to wait. I have said, in a 
former chapter of my biography, that the kingdom of Ireland was at 
this period ravaged by various parties of banditti ; who, under the 
name of Whiteboys, Oakboys, Steelboys, with captains at their head, 
killed proctors, fired stacks, houghed and maimed cattle, and took 
the law into their own hands. One of these bands, or several of 
them for what I know, was commanded by a mysterious personage 
called Captain Thunder ; whose business seemed to be that of marry- 
ing people with or without their own consent, or that of their parents. 
The Dublin Gazettes and Mercuries of that period (the year 1772) 
teem with proclamations from the Lord Lieutenant, offering rewards 
for the apprehension of this dreadful Captain Thunder and his gang, 
and describing at length various exploits of the savage aide-de-camp 
of Hymen. I determined to make use, if not of the services, at any 
rate of the name of Captain Thunder, and put my cousin Ulick in 
possession of his lady and her ten thousand pounds. She was no 
great beauty, and, I presume, it was the money he loved rather than 
the owner of it. 

On account of her widowhood, Lady Lyndon could not as yet 
frequent the balls and routs which the hospitable nobility of Dublin 
were in the custom of giving ; but her friend Miss Kiljoy had no 
such cause for retirement, and was glad to attend any parties to 
which she might be invited. I made Ulick Brady a present of a 
couple of handsome suits of velvet, and by my influence procured 
him an invitation to many of the most elegant of these assemblies. 
But he had not had my advantages or experience of the manners of 
Court ; was as shy with ladies as a young colt, and could no more 
dance a minuet than a donkey. He made very little way in the 
polite world or in his mistress’s heart : in fact, I could see that she 
preferred several other young gentlemen to him, who were more at 
home in the ballroom than poor Ulick ; he had made his first im- 
pression upon the heiress, and felt his first flame for her, in her 
father’s house of Bally kiljoy, where he used to hunt and get drunk 
with the old gentleman. 

“ I could do thim two well enough, anyhow,” Ulick would say, 
heaving a sigh ; “ and if it’s drinking or riding across country would 
do it, there’s no man in Ireland would have a better chance with 
Amalia.” 

“ Never fear, Ulick,” was my reply; “you shall have your 
Amalia, or my name is not Redmond Barry.” 

My Lord Charlemont — who was one of the most elegant and 
accomplished noblemen in Ireland in those days, a fine scholar and 
wit, a gentleman who had travelled much abroad, where I had the 
honour of knowing him — gave a magnificent masquerade at his 


THE MASQUERADE 197 

house of Marino, some few miles from Dublin, on the Dunleary road. 
And it was at this entertainment that I was determined that Ulick 
should be made happy for life. Miss Kiljoy was invited to the 
masquerade, and the little Lord Bullingdon, who longed to witness 
such a scene ; and it was agreed that he was to go under the guardian- 
ship of his governor, my old friend the Reverend Mr. Runt. I 
learned what was the equipage in which the party were to be con- 
veyed to the ball, and took my measures accordingly. 

Ulick Brady was not present : his fortune and quality were not 
sufficient to procure him an invitation to so distinguished a place, and 
I had it given out three days previous that he had been arrested for 
debt : a rumour which surprised nobody who knew him. 

I appeared that night in a character with which I was very 
familiar, that of a private soldier in the King of Prussia’s guard. I 
had a grotesque mask made, with an immense nose and moustaches, 
talked a jumble of broken English and German, in which the latter 
greatly predominated ; and had crowds round me laughing at my 
droll accent, and whose curiosity was increased by a knowledge of 
my previous history. Miss Kiljoy was attired as an antique princess, 
with little Bullingdon as a page of the times of chivalry ; his hair 
was in powder, his doublet rose-colour, and pea-green and silver, and 
he looked very handsome and saucy as he strutted about with my 
sword by his side. As for Mr. Runt, he walked about very demurely 
in a domino, and perpetually paid his respects to the buffet, and ate 
enough cold chicken and drank enough punch and champagne to 
satisfy a company of grenadiers. 

The Lord Lieutenant came and went in state — the ball was 
magnificent. Miss Kiljoy had partners in plenty, among whom was 
myself, who walked a minuet with her (if the clumsy waddling of 
the Irish heiress may be called by such a name) ; and I took occasion 
to plead my passion for Lady Lyndon in the most pathetic terms, 
and to beg her friend’s interference in my favour. 

It was three hours past midnight when the party for Lyndon 
House went away. Little Bullingdon had long since been asleep in 
one of Lady Charlemont’s china closets. Mr. Runt was exceedingly 
husky in talk, and unsteady in gait. A young lady of the present 
day would be alarmed to see a gentleman in such a condition ; but 
it was a common sight in those jolly old times, when a gentleman 
was thought a milksop unless he was occasionally tipsy. I saw 
Miss Kiljoy to her carriage, with several other gentlemen : and, 
peering through the crowd of ragged linkboys, drivers, beggars, 
drunken men and women, who used invariably to wait round great 
men’s doors when festivities were going on, saw the carriage drive 
off, with a hurrah from the mob ; then came back presently to the 


198 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

supper-room, where I talked German, favoured the three or four 
topers still there with a High-Dutch chorus, and attacked the dishes 
and wine with great resolution. 

“ How can you drink afsy with that big nose on ? ” said one 
gentleman. 

“ Go an be hangt ! ” said I, in the true accent, applying myself 
again to the wine ; with which the others laughed, and I pursued 
my supper in silence. 

There was a gentleman present who had seen the Lyndon party 
go off, with whom I had made a bet, which I lost ; and the next 
morning I called upon him and paid it him. All which particulars 
the reader will be surprised at hearing enumerated ; but the fact is, 
that it was not I who went back to the party, but my late German 
valet, who was of my size, and, dressed in my mask, could perfectly 
pass for me. We changed clothes in a hackney-coach that stood 
near Lady Lyndon’s chariot, and driving after it, speedily over- 
took it. 

The fated vehicle which bore the lovely object of Ulick Brady’s 
affections had not advanced very far, when, in the midst of a deep 
rut in the road, it came suddenly to with a jolt ; the footman, 
springing off the back, cried “ Stop ! ” to the coachman, warning 
him that a wheel was off, and that it would be dangerous to pro- 
ceed with only three. Wheel-caps had not been invented in those 
days, as they have since been by the ingenious builders of Long 
Acre. And how the linchpin of the wheel had come out I do not 
pretend to say ; but it possibly may have been extracted by some 
rogues among the crowd before Lord Charlemont’s gate. 

Miss Kiljoy thrust her head out of the window, screaming as 
ladies do ; Mr. Runt the chaplain woke up from his boozy slumbers ; 
and little Bullingdon, starting up and drawing his little sword, said, 
“ Don’t be afraid, Miss Amelia : if it’s footpads, I am armed.” 
The young rascal had the spirit of a lion, that’s the truth ; as I 
must acknowledge, in spite of all my after-quarrels with him. 

The hackney coach which had been following Lady Lyndon’s 
chariot by this time came up, and the coachman seeing the disaster, 
stepped down from his box, and politely requested her Ladyship’s 
honour to enter his vehicle ; which was as clean and elegant as any 
person of tiptop quality might desire. This invitation was, after a 
minute or two, accepted by the passengers of the chariot : the 
hackney-coachman promising to drive them to Dublin “ in a hurry.” 
Thady, the valet, proposed to accompany his young master and the 
young lady ; and the coachman, who had a friend seemingly drunk 
by his side on the box, with a grin told Thady to get up behind. 
However, as the footboard there was covered with spikes, as a 


THE ABDUCTION OF MISS KILJOY 199 

defence against the street-boys, who love a ride gratis, Thady’s 
fidelity would not induce him to brave these ; and he was persuaded 
to remain by the wounded chariot, for which he and the coachman 
manufactured a linchpin out of a neighbouring hedge. 

Meanwhile, although the hackney-coachman drove on rapidly, 
yet the party within seemed to consider it was a long distance from 
Dublin ; and what was Miss Kiljoy’s astonishment, on looking out 
of the window at length, to see around her a lonely heath, with no 
signs of buildings or city. She began forthwith to scream out to 
the coachman to stop ; but the man only whipped the horses the 
faster for her noise, and bade her Ladyship “ hould on— ’twas a 
short cut he was taking.” 

Miss Kiljoy continued screaming, the coachman flogging, the 
horses galloping, until two or three men appeared suddenly from 
a hedge, to whom the fair one cried for assistance ; and the young 
Bullingdon opening the coach-door, jumped valiantly out, toppling 
over head and heels as he fell ; but jumping up in an instant, he 
drew his little sword, and, running towards the carriage, exclaimed, 
“ This way, gentlemen ! stop the rascal ! ” 

“ Stop ! ” cried the men ; at which the coachman pulled up with 
extraordinary obedience. Runt all the while lay tipsy in the carriage, 
having only a dreamy half-consciousness of all that was going on. 

The newly arrived champions of female distress now held a con- 
sultation, in which they looked at the young lord and laughed 
considerably. 

“Do not be alarmed,” said the leader, coming up to the door ; 
“ one of my people shall mount the box by the side of that treacherous 
rascal, and, with your Ladyship’s leave, I and my companions will 
get in and see you home. We are well armed, and can defend you 
in case of danger.” 

With this, and without more ado, he jumped into the carriage, 
his companion following him. 

“ Know your place, fellow ! ” cried out little Bullingdon indig- 
nantly ; “ and give place to the Lord Viscount Bullingdon ! ” and 
put himself before the huge person of the new-comer, who was about 
to enter the hackney-coach. 

“ Get out of that, my Lord,” said the man, in a broad brogue, 
and shoving him aside. On which the boy, crying “ Thieves ! 
thieves ! ” drew out his little hanger, and ran at the man, and would 
have wounded him (for a small sword will wound as well as a great 
one) ; but his opponent, who was armed with a long stick, struck the 
weapon luckily out of the lad’s hands : it went flying over his head, 
and left him aghast and mortified at his discomfiture. 

He then pulled oft’ his hat, making his Lordship a low bow ? and 


200 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

entered the carriage ; the door of which was shut upon him by his 
confederate, who was to mount the box. Miss Kiljoy might have 
screamed ; but I presume her shrieks were stopped by the sight 
of an enormous horse-pistol which one of her champions produced, 
who said, “No harm is intended you, m&’am, but if you cry out, 
we must gag you ; ” on which she suddenly became as mute as 
a fish. 

All these events took place in an exceedingly short space of 
time; and when the three invaders had taken possession of the 
carriage, the poor little Bullingdon being left bewildered and 
astonished on the heath, one of them putting his head out of the 
window, said — 

“ My Lord, a word with you.” 

“ What is it % ” said the boy, beginning to whimper : he was 
but eleven years old, and his courage had been excellent hitherto. 

“You are only two miles from Marino. Walk back till you 
come to a big stone, there turn to the right, and keep on straight 
till you get to the high-road, when you will easily find your way 
back. And when you see her Ladyship your mamma, give Cap- 
tain Thunder’s compliments, and say Miss Amelia Kiljoy is 
going to be married.” 

“ Oh heavens ! ” sighed out that young lady. 

The carriage drove swiftly on, and the poor little nobleman 
was left alone on the heath, just as the morning began to break. 
He was fairly frightened ; and no wonder. He thought of running 
after the coach ; but his courage and his little legs failed him : so 
he sat down upon a stone and cried for vexation. 

It was in this way that Ulick Brady made what I call a Sabine 
marriage. When he halted with his two groomsmen at the cottage 
where the ceremony was to be performed, Mr. Runt, the chaplain, 
at first declined to perform it. But a pistol was held at the head 
of that unfortunate preceptor, and he was told, with dreadful oaths, 
that his miserable brains would be blown out ; when he consented 
to read the service. The lovely Amelia had, very likely, a similar 
inducement held out to her, but of that I know nothing; for I 
drove back to town with the coachman as soon as we had set the 
bridal party down, and had the satisfaction of finding Fritz, my 
German, arrived before me : he had come back in my carriage in 
my dress, having left the masquerade undiscovered, and done every- 
thing there according to my orders. 

Poor Runt came back the next day in a piteous plight, keeping 
silence as to his share in the occurrences of the evening, and with 
a dismal story of having been drunk, of having been waylaid and 
bound, of having been left on the road and picked up by a Wicklow 


THE BRADY MARRIAGE 


201 


cart, which was coming in with provisions to Dublin, and found 
him helpless on the road. There was no possible means of fixing 
any share of the conspiracy upon him. Little Bullingdon, who, 
too, found his way home, was unable in any way to identify me. 
But Lady Lyndon knew that I was concerned in the plot, for I 
met her hurrying the next day to the Castle ; all the town being 
up about the enlevement. And I saluted her with a smile so 
diabolical, that I knew she was aware that I had been concerned 
in the daring and ingenious scheme. 

Thus it was that I repaid Ulick Brady’s kindness to me in early 
days ; and had the satisfaction of restoring the fallen fortunes of a 
deserving branch of my family. He took his bride into Wicklow, 
where he lived with her in the strictest seclusion until the affair was 
blown over ; the Kiljoys striving everywhere in vain to discover his 
retreat. They did not for a while even know who was the lucky 
man who had carried off the heiress ; nor was it until she wrote a 
letter some weeks afterwards, signed Amelia Brady, and expressing 
her perfect happiness in her new condition, and stating that she had 
been married by Lady Lyndon’s chaplain Mr. Runt, that the truth 
was known, and my worthy friend confessed his share of the trans- 
action. As his good-natured mistress did not dismiss him from 
his post in consequence, everybody persisted in supposing that 
poor Lady Lyndon was privy to the plot; and the story of her 
Ladyship’s passionate attachment for me gained more and more 
credit. 

I was not slow, you may be sure, in profiting by these rumours. 
Every one thought I had a share in the Brady marriage ; though no 
one could prove it. Every one thought I was well with the widowed 
Countess ; though no one could show that I said so. But there is 
a way of proving a thing even while you contradict it, and I used 
to laugh and joke so a propos that all men began to wish me joy 
of my great fortune, and look up to me as the affianced husband of 
the greatest heiress in the kingdom. The papers took up the 
matter ; the female friends of Lady Lyndon remonstrated wfith her 
and cried “ Fie ! ” Even the English journals and magazines, which 
in those days were very scandalous, talked of the matter ; and 
whispered that a beautiful and accomplished widow, with a title 
and the largest possessions in the two kingdoms, was about to 
bestow her hand upon a young gentleman of high birth and fashion, 

who had distinguished himself in the service of His M y the 

K — of Pr . I won’t say who was the author of these para- 

graphs; or how two pictures, one representing myself under the 
title of “ The Prussian Irishman,” and the other Lady Lyndon as 
“ The Countess of Ephesus,” actually appeared in the Town and 


202 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Country Magazine , published at London, and containing the 
fashionable tittle-tattle of the day. 

Lady Lyndon was so perplexed and terrified by this continual 
hold upon her, that she determined to leave the country. Well, 
she did ; and who was the first to receive her on landing at Holy- 
head 1 ? Your humble servant, Redmond Barry, Esquire. And, to 
crown all, the Dublin Mercury , which announced her Ladyship’s 
departure, announced mine the day before . There was not a soul 
but thought she had followed me to England ; whereas she was only 
flying me. Vain hope ! — a man of my resolution was not thus to 
be balked in pursuit. Had she fled to the antipodes, I would 
have been there : ay, and would have followed her as far as Orpheus 
did Eurydice ! 

Her Ladyship had a house in Berkeley Square, London, more 
splendid than that which she possessed in Dublin ; and, knowing 
that she would come thither, I preceded her to the English capital, 
and took handsome apartments in Hill Street, hard by. I had the 
same intelligence in her London house which I had procured in 
Dublin. The same faithful porter was there to give me all the 
information I required. I promised to treble his wages as soon as 
a certain event should happen. I won over Lady Lyndon’s com- 
panion by a present of a hundred guineas down, and a promise of 
two thousand when I should be married, and gained the favours of 
her favourite lady’s-maid by a bribe of similar magnitude. My 
reputation had so far preceded me in London that, on my arrival, 
numbers of the genteel were eager to receive me at their routs. We 
have no idea in this humdrum age what a gay and splendid place 
London was then : what a passion for play there was among young 
and old, male and female ; what thousands were lost and won in a 
night ; what beauties there were — how brilliant, gay, and dashing ! 
Everybody was delightfully wicked :*the Royal Dukes of Gloucester 
and Cumberland set the example ; the nobles followed close behind. 
Running away was the fashion. Ah ! it was a pleasant time ; and 
lucky was he who had fire, and youth, and money, and could live 
in it ! I had all these ; and the old frequenters of “ White’s,” 
“ Wattier’s,” and “ Goosetree’s ” could tell stories of the gallantry, 
spirit, and high fashion of Captain Barry. 

The progress of a love-story is tedious to all those who are not 
concerned, and I leave such themes to the hack novel-writers, and 
the young boarding-school misses for whom they write. It is not 
my intention to follow, step by step, the incidents of my courtship, 
or to narrate all the difficulties I had to contend with, and my 
triumphant manner of surmounting them. Suffice it to say, I did 
overcome these difficulties. I am of opinion, with my friend the 


203 


LADY TIPTOFF’S ABUSE 

late ingenious Mr. Wilkes, that such impediments are nothing in 
the way of a man of spirit ; and that he can convert indifference 
and aversion into love, if he have perseverance and cleverness suffi- 
cient. By the time the Countess’s widowhood was expired, I had 
found means to be received into her house ; I had her women per- 
petually talking in my favour, vaunting my powers, expatiating upon 
my reputation, and boasting of my success and popularity in the 
fashionable world. 

Also, the best friends I had in the prosecution of my tender suit 
were the Countess’s noble relatives ; who were far from knowing 
the service that they did me, and to whom I beg leave to tender 
my heartfelt thanks for the abuse with which they then loaded me : 
and to whom I fling my utter contempt for the calumny and hatred 
with which they have subsequently pursued me. 

The chief of these amiable persons was the Marchioness of Tiptoff, 
mother of the young gentleman whose audacity I had punished at 
Dublin. This old harridan, on the Countess’s first arrival in London, 
waited upon her, and favoured her with such a storm of abuse for 
her encouragement of me, that I do believe she advanced my cause 
more than six months’ courtship could have done, or the pinking of 
a half-dozen of rivals. It was in vain that poor Lady Lyndon 
pleaded her entire innocence, and vowed she had never encouraged 
me. “ Never encouraged him ! ” screamed out the old fury ; “ didn’t 
you encourage the wretch at Spa, during Sir Charles’s own life? 
Didn’t you marry a dependant of yours to one of this profligate’s 
bankrupt cousins ? When he set off for England, didn’t you follow 
him like a madwoman the very next day ? Didn’t he take lodgings 
at your very door almost — and do you call this no encouragement 1 
For shame, madam, shame ! You might have married my son — 
my dear and noble George ; but that he did not choose to interfere 
with your shameful passion for the beggarly upstart whom you 
caused to assassinate him ; and the only counsel I have to give your 
Ladyship is this, to legitimatise the ties which you have contracted 
with this shameless adventurer; to make that connection legal 
which, real as it is now, is against both decency and religion ; and 
to spare your family and your son the shame of your present line 
of life.” 

With this the old fury of a marchioness left the room, and Lady 
Lyndon in tears : I had the whole particulars of the conversation 
from her Ladyship’s companion, and augured the best result from it 
in my favour. 

Thus, by the sage influence of my Lady Tiptoff, the Countess of 
Lyndon’s natural friends and family were kept from her society. 
Even when Lady Lyndon went to Court, the most august lady in 


204 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

the realm received her with such marked coldness, that the un- 
fortunate widow came home and took to her bed with vexation. 
And thus I may say that Royalty itself became an agent in advanc- 
ing my suit, and helping the plans of the poor Irish soldier of 
fortune. So it is that Fate works with agents, great and small ; 
and by means over which they have no control the destinies of men 
and women are accomplished. 

I shall always consider the conduct of Mrs. Bridget (Lady 
Lyndon’s favourite maid at this juncture) as a masterpiece of in- 
genuity : and, indeed, had such an opinion of her diplomatic skill, 
that the very instant I became master of the Lyndon estates, and 
paid her the promised sum — I am a man of honour, and rather than 
not keep my word with the woman, I raised the money of the J ews, 
at an exorbitant interest — as soon, I say, as I achieved my triumph, 
I took Mrs. Bridget by the hand, and said, “ Madam, you have 
shown such unexampled fidelity in my service that I am glad to 
reward you, according to my promise ; but you have given proofs of 
such extraordinary cleverness and dissimulation, that I must decline 
keeping you in Lady Lyndon’s establishment, and beg you will leave 
it this very day : ” which she did, and went over to the Tiptoff 
faction, and has abused me ever since. 

But I must tell you what she did which was so clever. Why, it 
was the simplest thing in the world, as all master-strokes are. When 
Lady Lyndon lamented her fate and my — -as she was pleased to call 
it — shameful treatment of her, Mrs. Bridget said, “Why should not 
your Ladyship write this young gentleman word of the evil which he 
is causing you? Appeal to his feelings (which, I have heard say, 
are very good indeed — the whole town is ringing with accounts of 
his spirit and generosity), and beg him to desist from a pursuit which 
causes the best of ladies so much pain ? Do, my Lady, write : I 
know your style is so elegant that I, for my part, have many a time 
burst into tears in reading your charming letters, and I have no doubt 
Mr. Barry will sacrifice anything rather than hurt your feelings.” 
And, of course, the abigail swore to the fact. 

“Do you think so, Bridget?” said her Ladyship. And my 
mistress forthwith penned me a letter, in her most fascinating and 
winning manner : — 

“Why, sir,” wrote she, “will you pursue me? why environ me 
in a web of intrigue so frightful that my spirit sinks under it, seeing 
escape is hopeless from your frightful, your diabolical art ? They say 
you are generous to others — be so to me. I know your bravery but 
too well : exercise it on men who can meet your sword, not on a poor 
feeble woman who cannot resist you. Remember the friendship you 


I ACHIEVE MY TRIUMPH 


20 5 


once professed for me. And now, I beseech you, I implore you, to 
give a proof of it. Contradict the calumnies which you have spread 
against me, and repair, if you can, and if you have a spark of honour 
left, the miseries which you have caused to the heart-broken 

“ H. Lyndon.” 

What was this letter meant for but that I should answer it in 
person? My excellent ally told me where I should meet Lady 
Lyndon, and accordingly I followed, and found her at the Pantheon. 
I repeated the scene at Dublin over again; showed her how pro- 
digious my power was, humble as I was, and that my energy was 
still untired. “ But,” I added, “ I am as great in good as I am in 
evil ; as fond and faithful as a friend as I am terrible as an enemy. 
I will do everything,” I said, “ which you ask of me, except when 
you bid me not to love you. That is beyond my power ; and while 
my heart has a pulse I must follow you. It is my fate ; your fate. 
Cease to battle against it, and be mine. Loveliest of your sex ! 
with life alone can end my passion for you ; and, indeed, it is only 
by dying at your command that I can be brought to obey you. Do 
you wish me to die ? ” 

She said, laughing (for she was a woman of a lively, humorous 
turn), that she did not wish me to commit self-murder ; and I felt 
from that moment that she was mine. 

A year from that day, on the 15th of May, in the year 1773, I 
had the honour and happiness to lead to the altar Honoria, Countess 
of Lyndon, widow of the late Right Honourable Sir Charles Lyndon, 
K.B. The ceremony was performed at St. George’s, Hanover Square, 
by the Reverend Samuel Runt, her Ladyship’s chaplain. A magni- 
ficent supper and ball was given at our house in Berkeley Square, and 
the next morning I had a duke, four earls, three generals, and a 
crowd of the most distinguished people in London at my lev^e. 
Walpole made a lampoon about the marriage, and Selwyn cut jokes 
at the “ Cocoa-tree.” Old Lady Tiptoff, although she had recom- 
mended it, was ready to bite off her fingers with vexation ; and as 
for young Bullingdon, who was grown a tall lad of fourteen, when 
called upon by the Countess to embrace his papa, he shook his fist 
in my face and said, “ He my father ! I would as soon call one of 
your Ladyship’s footmen papa ! ” 

But I could afford to laugh at the rage of the boy and the old 
woman, and at the jokes of the wits of St. James’s. I sent off a 
flaming account of our nuptials to my mother and my uncle the 
good Chevalier; and now, arrived at the pitch of prosperity, and 
having, at thirty years of age, by my own merits and energy, raised 


206 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

myself to one of the highest social positions that any man in England 
could occupy, I determined to enjoy myself as became a man of 
quality for the remainder of my life. 

After we had received the congratulations of our friends in 
London — for in those days people were not ashamed of being 
married, as they seem to be now — I and Honoria (who was all 
complacency, and a most handsome, sprightly, and agreeable com- 
panion) set off to visit our estates in the West of England, where 
I had never as yet set foot. We left London in three chariots, 
each with four horses ; and my uncle would have been pleased 
could he have seen painted on their panels the Irish crown and the 
ancient coat of the Barrys beside the Countess’s coronet and the 
noble cognisance of the noble family of Lyndon. 

Before quitting London, I procured His Majesty’s gracious per- 
mission to add the name of my lovely lady to my own ; and hence- 
forward assumed the style and title of Barry Lyndon, as I have 
written it in this autobiography. 


CHAPTER XVII 


I APPEAR AS AN ORNAMENT OF ENGLISH SOCIETY 
iL the journey down to Hackton Castle, the largest and most 



ancient of our ancestral seats in Devonshire, was performed 


1 * with the slow and sober state becoming people of the first 

quality in the realm. An outrider in my livery went on before us, 
and bespoke our lodging from town to town ; and thus we lay in 
state at Andover, Ilminster, and Exeter; and the fourth evening 
arrived in time for supper before the antique baronial mansion, of 
which the gate was in an odious Gothic taste that would have set 
Mr. Walpole wild with pleasure. 

The first days of a marriage are commonly very trying ; and I 
have known couples, who lived together like turtle-doves for the 
rest of their lives, peck each other’s eyes out almost during the 
honeymoon. I did not escape the common lot : in our journey 
westward my Lady Lyndon chose to quarrel with me because I 
pulled out a pipe of tobacco (the habit of smoking which I had 
acquired in Germany when a soldier in Biilow’s, and could never 
give it over), and smoked it in the carriage ; and also her Ladyship 
chose to take umbrage both at Ilminster and Andover, because in 
the evenings when we lay there I chose to invite the landlords of 
the “Bell” and the “Lion” to crack a bottle with me. Lady 
Lyndon was a haughty woman, and I hate pride ; and I promise 
you that in both instances I overcame this vice in her. On the 
third day of our journey I had her to light my pipe-match with her 
own hands, and made her deliver it to me with tears in her eyes ; 
and at the “Swan Inn” at Exeter I had so completely subdued 
her, that she asked me humbly whether I would not wish the 
landlady as well as the host to step up to dinner with us. To 
this I should have had no objection, for, indeed, Mrs. Bonnyface 
was a very good-looking woman ; but we expected a visit from my 
Lord Bishop, a kinsman of Lady Lyndon, and the biense'ances did 
not permit the indulgence of my wife’s request. I appeared with 
her at evening service, to compliment our right reverend cousin, 
and put her name down for twenty-five guineas, and my own for 
one hundred, to the famous new organ which was then being built 


208 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

for the cathedral. This conduct, at the very outset of my career 
in the county, made me not a little popular ; and the residentiary 
canon, who did me the favour to sup with me at the inn, went 
away after the sixth bottle, hiccupping the most solemn vows for 
the welfare of such a p-p-pious gentleman. 

Before we reached Hackton Castle, we had to drive through ten 
miles of the Lyndon estates, where the people were out to visit us, 
the church bells set a-ringing, the parson and the farmers assembled 
in their best by the roadside, and the school children and the labour- 
ing people were loud in their hurrahs for her Ladyship. I flung 
money among these worthy characters, stopped to bow and chat 
with his reverence and the farmers, and if I found that the Devon- 
shire girls were among the handsomest in the kingdom is it my 
fault ? These remarks my Lady Lyndon especially would take in 
great dudgeon ; and I do believe she was made more angry by 
my admiration of the red cheeks of Miss Betsy Quarringdon of 
Clumpton, than by any previous speech or act of mine in the 
journey. “Ah, ah, my fine madam, you are jealous, are you?” 
thought I, and reflected, not without deep sorrow, how lightly she 
herself had acted in her husband’s lifetime, and that those are most 
jealous who themselves give most cause for jealousy. 

Round Hackton village the scene of welcome was particularly 
gay : a band of music had been brought from Plymouth, and arches 
and flags had been raised, especially before the attorney’s and the 
doctor’s houses, who were both in the employ of the family. There 
were many hundreds of stout people at the great lodge, which, with 
the park-wall, bounds one side of Hackton Green, and from which, 
for three miles, goes (or rather went) an avenue of noble elms up to 
the towers of the old castle. I wished they had been oak when I 
cut the trees down in 79, for they would have fetched three times 
the money : I know nothing more culpable than the carelessness of 
ancestors in planting their grounds with timber of small value, when 
they might just as easily raise oak. Thus I have always said that 
the Roundhead Lyndon of Hackton, who planted these elms in 
Charles II. ’s time, cheated me of ten thousand pounds. 

For the first few days after our arrival, my time was agreeably 
spent in receiving the visits of the nobility and gentry who came to 
pay their respects to the noble new-married couple, and, like Blue- 
beard’s wife in the fairy tale, in inspecting the treasures, the furni- 
ture, and the numerous chambers of the castle. It is a huge old 
place, built as far back as Henry V.’s time, besieged and battered 
by the Cromwellians in the Revolution, and altered and patched up, 
in an odious old-fashioned taste, by the Roundhead Lyndon, who 
succeeded to the property at the death of a brother whose principles 


HACKTON HALL 


209 

were excellent and of the true Cavalier sort, but who ruined himself 
chiefly by drinking, dicing, and a dissolute life, and a little by sup- 
porting the King. The castle stands in a fine chase, Which was 
prettily speckled over with deer ; and I can’t but own that my 
pleasure was considerable at first, as I sat in the oak parlour of 
summer evenings, with the windows open, the gold and silver plate 
shining in a hundred dazzling colours on the sideboards, a dozen 
jolly companions round the table, and could look out over the wide 
green park and the waving woods, and see the sun setting on the 
lake, and hear the deer calling to one another. 

The exterior was, when I first arrived, a quaint composition of 
all sorts of architecture ; of feudal towers, and gable-ends in Queen 
Bess’s style, and rough-patched walls built up to repair the ravages 
of the Roundhead cannon : but I need not speak of this at large, 
having had the place new-faced at a vast expense, under a fashion- 
able architect, and the facade laid out in the latest French-Greek 
and most classical style. There had been moats, and drawbridges, 
and outer walls ; these I had shaved away into elegant terraces, and 
handsomely laid out in parterres, according to the plans of Monsieur 
Cornichon, the great Parisian architect, who visited England for 
the purpose. 

After ascending the outer steps, you entered an antique hall of 
vast dimensions, wainscoted with black carved oak, and ornamented 
with portraits of our ancestors : from the square beard of Brook 
Lyndon, the great lawyer in Queen Bess’s time, to the loose 
stomacher and ringlets of Lady Saccharissa Lyndon, whom Vandyck 
painted when she was a maid of honour to Queen Henrietta Maria, 
and down to Sir Charles Lyndon, with his riband as a knight of the 
Bath; and my Lady, painted by Hudson, in a white satin sack 
and the family diamonds, as she was presented to the old King 
George II. These diamonds were very fine ; I first had them reset 
by Boehmer, when we appeared before their French Majesties at 
Versailles ; and finally raised eighteen thousand pounds upon them, 
after that infernal run of ill luck at “ Goosetree’s,” when Jemmy 
T witcher (as we called my Lord Sandwich), Carlisle, Charley Fox, 
and I played hombre for four-and-forty hours sans desemparer. Bows 
and pikes, huge stag-heads and hunting implements, and rusty old 
suits of armour, that may have been worn in the days of Gog and 
Magog for what I know, formed the other old ornaments of this 
huge apartment; and were ranged round a fireplace where you 
might have turned a coach-and-six. This I kept pretty much in its 
antique condition, but had the old armour eventually turned out 
and consigned to the lumber-rooms upstairs ; replacing it with china 
monsters, gilded settees from France, and elegant marbles, of which 


210 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

the broken noses and limbs, and ugliness, undeniably proved their 
antiquity : and which an agent purchased for me at Rome. But 
such was the taste of the times (and, perhaps, the rascality of my 
agent), that thirty thousand pounds’ worth of these gems of art 
only went for three hundred guineas at a subsequent period, when I 
found it necessary to raise money on my collections. 

From this main hall branched off on either side the long series 
of state-rooms, poorly furnished with high-backed chairs and long 
queer Venice glasses, when first I came to the property ; but after- 
wards rendered so splendid by me, with the gold damasks of Lyons 
and the magnificent Gobelin tapestries I won from Richelieu at 
play. There were thirty-six bedrooms de mattre , of which I only 
kept three in their antique condition, — the haunted room as it was 
called, where the murder was done in James II. ’s time, the bed 
where William slept after landing at Torbay, and Queen Elizabeth’s 
state-room. All the rest were redecorated by Comichon in the 
most elegant taste ; not a little to the scandal of some of the steady 
old country dowagers ; for I had pictures of Boucher and Vanloo to 
decorate the principal apartments, in which the Cupids and Venuses 
were painted in a manner so natural, that I recollect the old 
wizened Countess of Frumpington pinning over the curtains of her 
bed, and sending her daughter, Lady Blanche Whalebone, to sleep 
with her waiting-woman, rather than allow her to lie in a chamber 
hung all over with looking-glasses, after the exact fashion of the 
Queen’s closet at Versailles. 

For many of these ornaments I was not so much answerable as 
Cornichon, whom Lauraguais lent me, and who was the intendant of 
my buildings during my absence abroad. I had given the man 
carte blanche , and when he fell down and broke his leg, as he was 
decorating a theatre in the room which had been the old chapel of 
the castle, the people of the country thought it was a judgment of 
Heaven upon him. In his rage for improvement the fellow dared 
anything. Without my orders he cut down an old rookery which 
was sacred in the country, and had a prophecy regarding it, stating, 
“ When the rook-wood shall fall, down goes Hackton Hall.” The 
rooks went over and colonised Tiptoff Woods, which lay near us 
(and be hanged to them !), and Cornichon built a temple to Venus 
and two lovely fountains on their site. Venuses and Cupids were 
the rascal’s adoration : he wanted to take down the Gothic screen 
and place Cupids in our pew there ; but old Doctor Huff the rector 
came out with a large oak stick, and addressed the unlucky architect 
in Latin, of which he did not comprehend a word, yet made him 
understand that he would break his bones if he laid a single finger 
upon the sacred edifice. Cornichon made complaints about the 


MY MODERN IMPROVEMENTS 211 

Abbd Huff,” as he called him (“Et quel abbd, grand Dieu ! ” added 
he, quite bewildered, “ un abbd avec douze enfans ”) ; but I en- 
couraged the Church in this respect, and bade Cornichon exert his 
talents only in the castle. 

There was a magnificent collection of ancient plate, to which I 
added much of the most splendid modern kind ; a cellar which, 
however well furnished, required continual replenishing, and a 
kitchen which I reformed altogether. My friend, Jack Wilkes, 
sent me down a cook from the Mansion House, for the English 
cookery, — the turtle and venison department : I had a chef (who 
called out the Englishman, by the way, and complained sadly of the 
gros cochon who wanted to meet him with coups de poing) and a 
couple of aides from Paris, and an Italian confectioner, as my 
offerers de bouche. All which natural appendages to a man of 
fashion, the odious, stingy old Tiptoff, my kinsman and neighbour, 
affected to view with horror ; and he spread through the country a 
report that I had my victuals cooked by Papists, lived upon frogs, 
and, he verily believed, fricasseed little children. 

But the squires ate my dinners very readily for all that, and old 
Doctor Huff himself was compelled to allow that my venison and 
turtle were most orthodox. The former gentry I knew how to con- 
ciliate, too, in other ways. There had been only a subscription 
pack of fox-hounds in the county and a few beggarly couples of 
mangy beagles, with which old Tiptoff pattered about his grounds ; 
I built a kennel and stables, which cost thirty thousand pounds, and 
stocked them in a manner which was worthy of my ancestors, the Irish 
kings. I had two packs of hounds, and took the field in the season 
four times a week, with three gentlemen in my hunt-uniform to follow 
me, and open house at Hackton for all who belonged to the hunt. 

These changes and this train de vivre required, as may be 
supposed, no small outlay ; and I confess that I have little of that 
base spirit of economy in my composition which some people practise 
and admire. For instance, old Tiptoff was hoarding up his money 
to repair his father’s extravagance and disencumber his estates ; a 
good deal of the money with which he paid off his mortgages my 
agent procured upon mine. And, besides, it must be remembered I 
had only a life-interest upon the Lyndon property, was always of 
an easy temper in dealing with the money-brokers, and had to 
pay heavily for insuring her Ladyship’s life. 

At the end of a year Lady Lyndon presented me with a son — 
Bryan Lyndon I called him, in compliment to my royal ancestry : 
but what more had I to leave him than a noble name 1 Was not 
the estate of his mother entailed upon the odious little Turk, Lord 
Bullingdon ? and whom, by the way, I have not mentioned as yet, 


212 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

though he was living at Hackton, consigned to a new governor. 
The insubordination of that boy was dreadful. He used to quote 
passages of “ Hamlet ” to his mother, which made her very angry. 
Once when I took a horsewhip to chastise him, he drew a knife, 
and would have stabbed me : and, ’faith, I recollected my own 
youth, which was pretty similar ; and, holding out my hand, burst 
out laughing, and proposed to him to be friends. We were recon- 
ciled for that time, and the next, and the next ; but there was no 
love lost between us, and his hatred for me seemed to grow as he 
grew, which was apace. 

I determined to endow my darling boy Bryan with a property, 
and to this end cut down twelve thousand pounds’ worth of timber 
on Lady Lyndon’s Yorkshire and Irish estates : at which proceeding 
Bullingdon’s guardian, Tiptoff, cried out, as usual, and swore I had 
no right to touch a stick of the trees ; but down they went ; and 
I commissioned my mother to repurchase the ancient lands of 
Ballybarry and Barryogue, which had once formed part of the 
immense possessions of my house. These she bought back with 
excellent prudence and extreme joy ; for her heart was gladdened 
at the idea that a son was born to my name, and with the notion 
of my magnificent fortunes. 

To say truth, I was rather afraid, now that I lived in a very 
different sphere from that in which she was accustomed to move, 
lest she should come to pay me a visit, and astonish my English 
friends by her bragging and her brogue, her rouge and her old 
hoops and furbelows of the time of George II. : in which she had 
figured advantageously in her youth, and which she still fondly 
thought to be at the height of the fashion. So I wrote to her, 
putting off her visit ; begging her to visit us when the left wing 
of the castle was finished, or the stables built, and so forth. There 
was no need of such precaution. “ A hint’s enough for me, Red- 
mond,” the old lady would reply. “I am not coming to disturb 
you among your great English friends with my old-fashioned Irish 
ways. It’s a blessing to me to think that my darling boy has 
attained the position which I always knew was his due, and for 
which I pinched myself to educate him. You must bring me the 
little Bryan, that his grandmother may kiss him, one day. Present 
my respectful blessing to her Ladyship his mamma. Tell her she 
has got a treasure in her husband, which she couldn’t have had 
had she taken a duke to marry her ; and that the Barrys and the 
Bradys, though without titles, have the best of blood in their veins. 
I shall never rest until I see you Earl of Ballybarry, and my 
grandson Lord Viscount Barryogue.” 

How singular it was that the very same ideas should be passing 


THE BALLYBARRY ESTATE 


213 


in my mother’s mind and my own ! The very titles she had pitched 
upon had also been selected (naturally enough) by me ; and I don’t 
mind confessing that I had filled a dozen sheets of paper with my 
signature, under the names of Ballybarry and Barryogue, and had 
determined with my usual impetuosity to carry my point. My 
mother went and established herself at Ballybarry, living with the 
priest there until a tenement could be erected, and dating from 
“ Ballybarry Castle ” ; which, you may be sure, I gave out to be a 
place of no small importance. I had a plan of the estate in my 
study, both at Hackton and in Berkeley Square, and the plans of 
the elevation of Ballybarry Castle, the ancestral residence of Barry 
Lyndon, Esq., with the projected improvements, in which the castle 
was represented as about the size of Windsor, with more ornaments 
to the architecture ; and eight hundred acres of bog falling in handy, 
I purchased them at three pounds an acre, so that my estate upon 
the map looked to be no insignificant one.* I also in this year 
made arrangements for purchasing the Polwellan estate and mines 
in Cornwall from Sir John Trecothick, for <£70,000 — an imprudent 
bargain, which was afterwards the cause to me of much dispute 
and litigation. The troubles of property, the rascality of agents, 
the quibbles of lawyers, are endless. Humble people envy us 
great men, and fancy that our lives are all pleasure. Many a 
time in the course of my prosperity I have sighed for the days 
of my meanest fortune, and envied the boon companions at my 
table, with no clothes to their backs but such as my credit supplied 
them, without a guinea but what came from my pocket ; but with- 
out one of the harassing cares and responsibilities which are the 
dismal adjuncts of great rank and property. 

I did little more than make my appearance, and assume the 
command of my estates, in the kingdom of Ireland; rewarding 
generously those persons who had been kind to me in my former 
adversities, and taking my fitting place among the aristocracy of 
the land. But, in truth, I had small inducements to remain in it 
after having tasted of the genteeler and more complete pleasures of 
English and Continental life ; and we passed our summers at Buxton, 
Bath, and Harrogate, while Hackton Castle was being beautified in 

* On the strength of this estate, and pledging his honour that it was not 
mortgaged, Mr. Barry Lyndon borrowed £17,000, in the year 1786, from 
young Captain Pigeon, the city merchant’s son, who had just come in for 
his property. As for the Polwellan estate and mines, “ the cause of endless 
litigation," it must be owned that our hero purchased them ; but he never 
paid more than the first £5000 of the purchase money. Hence the litigation 
of which he complains, and the famous Chancery suit of “Trecothick v. 
Lyndon,” in which Mr. John Scott greatly distinguished himself.— Ed. 


214 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

the elegant manner already described by me, and the season at our 
mansion in Berkeley Square. 

It is wonderful how the possession of wealth brings out the 
virtues of a man ; or, at any rate, acts as a varnish or lustre to them, 
and brings out their brilliancy and colour in a manner never known 
when the individual stood in the cold grey atmosphere of poverty. 
I assure you it was a very short time before I was a pretty fellow 
of the first class ; made no small sensation at the coffee-houses in 
Pall Mall, and afterwards at the most famous clubs. My style, 
equipages, and elegant entertainments were in everybody’s mouth, 
and were described in all the morning prints. The needier part of 
Lady Lyndon’s relatives, and such as had been offended by the 
intolerable pomposity of old Tiptoff, began to appear at our routs 
and assemblies ; and as for relations of my own, I found in London 
and Ireland more than I had ever dreamed of, of cousins who claimed 
affinity with me. There were, of course, natives of my own country 
(of which I was not particularly proud), and I received visits from 
three or four swaggering shabby Temple bucks, with tarnished lace 
and Tipperary brogue, who were eating their way to the bar in 
London ; from several gambling adventurers at the watering-places, 
whom I soon speedily let to know their place ; and from others of 
more reputable condition. Among them I may mention my cousin 
the Lord Kilbarry, who, on the score of his relationship, borrowed 
thirty pieces from me to pay his landlady in Swallow Street ; and 
whom, for my own reasons, I allowed to maintain and credit a 
connection for which the Heralds’ College gave no authority what- 
soever. Kilbarry had a cover at my table; punted at play, and 
paid when he liked, which was seldom ; had an intimacy with, and 
was under considerable obligations to, my tailor ; and always boasted 
of his cousin the great Barry Lyndon of the West country. 

Her Ladyship and I lived, after a while, pretty separate when 
in London. She preferred quiet : or to say the truth, I preferred 
it ; being a great friend to a modest tranquil behaviour in woman, 
and a taste for the domestic pleasures. Hence I encouraged her 
to dine at home with her ladies, her chaplain, and a few of her 
friends; admitted three or four proper and discreet persons to ac- 
company her to her box at the opera or play on proper occasions ; 
and indeed declined for her the too frequent visits of her friends and 
family, preferring to receive them only twice or thrice in a season on 
our grand reception days. Besides, she was a mother, and had 
great comfort in the dressing, educating, and dandling our little 
Bryan, for whose sake it was fit that she should give up the 
pleasures and frivolities of the world ; so she left that part of the 
duty of every family of distinction to be performed by me. To say 


LADY LYNDON BECOMES DISAGREEABLE 215 


the truth, Lady Lyndon’s figure and appearance were not at this 
time such as to make for their owner any very brilliant appearance 
in the fashionable world. She had grown very fat, was short- 
sighted, pale in complexion, careless about her dress, dull in 
demeanour; her conversations with me characterised by a stupid 
despair, or a silly blundering attempt at forced cheerfulness still 
more disagreeable : hence our intercourse was but trifling, and my 
temptations to carry her into the world, or to remain in her society, 
of necessity exceedingly small. She would try my temper at home, 
too, in a thousand ways. When requested by me (often, I own, 
rather roughly) to entertain the company with conversation, wit, 
and learning, of which she was a mistress : or music, of which she 
was an accomplished performer, she would as often as not begin to 
cry, and leave the room. My company from this, of course, fancied 
I was a tyrant over her ; whereas I was only a severe and careful 
guardian over a silly, bad-tempered, and weak-minded lady. 

She was luckily very fond of her youngest son, and through him 
I had a wholesome and effectual hold of her ; for if in any of her 
tantrums or fits of haughtiness — (this woman was intolerably proud ; 
and repeatedly, at first, in our quarrels, dared to twit me with my 
own original poverty and low birth), — if, I say, in our disputes she 
pretended to have the upper hand, to assert her authority against 
mine, to refuse to sign such papers as I might think necessary for 
the distribution of our large and complicated property, I would have 
Master Bryan carried off to Chiswick for a couple of days ; and I 
warrant me his lady-mother could hold out no longer, and would 
agree to anything I chose to propose. The servants about her I 
took care should be in my pay, not hers : especially the child’s head 
nurse was under my orders, not those of my Lady : and a very hand- 
some, red-cheeked, impudent jade she was; and a great fool she 
made me make of myself. This woman was more mistress of the 
house than the poor-spirited lady who owned it. She gave the law 
to the servants ; and if I showed any particular attention to any of 
the ladies who visited us, the slut would not scruple to show her 
jealousy, and to find means to send them packing. The fact is, a 
generous man is always made a fool of by some woman or other ; 
and this one had such an influence over me that she could turn me 
round her finger.* 

* From these curious confessions, it would appear that Mr. Lyndon mal- 
treated his lady in every possible way ; that he denied her society, bullied her 
into signing away her property, spent it in gambling and taverns, was openly 
unfaithful to her ; and, when she complained, threatened to remove her children 
from her. Nor, indeed, is he the only husband who has done the like, and has 
passed for “nobody’s enemy but his own ” : a jovial good-natured fellow. The 


21 6 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

Her infernal temper (Mrs. Stammer was the jade’s name), and 
my wife’s moody despondency, made my house and home not over- 
pleasant : hence I was driven a good deal abroad, where, as play was 
the fashion at every club, tavern, and assembly, I, of course, was 
obliged to resume my old habit, and to commence as an amateur those 
games at which I was once unrivalled in Europe. But whether a 
man’s temper changes with prosperity, or his skill leaves him when, 
deprived of a confederate, and pursuing the game no longer profession- 
ally, he joins in it, like the rest of the world, for pastime, I know 
not ; but certain it is, that in the seasons of 177 4—7 5 I lost much 
money at “ White’s ” and the “ Cocoa Tree,” and was compelled to 
meet my losses by borrowing largely upon my wife’s annuities, insur- 
ing her Ladyship’s life, and so forth. The terms at which I raised 
these necessary sums and the outlays requisite for my improvements, 
were, of course, very onerous, and clipped the property considerably ; 
and it was some of these papers which my Lady Lyndon (who was 
of a narrow, timid, and stingy turn) occasionally refused to sign : 
until I persuaded her, as I have before shown. 

My dealings on the turf ought to be mentioned, as forming part 
of my history at this time ; but, in truth, I have no particular plea- 
sure in recalling my Newmarket doings. I was infernally bit and 
bubbled in almost every one of my transactions there ; and though 
I could ride a horse as well as any man in England, was no match 
with the English noblemen at backing him. Fifteen years after my 
horse, Bay Biilow, by Sophy Hardcastle, out of Eclipse, lost the 

world contains scores of such amiable people ; and, indeed, it is because justice 
has not been done them that we have edited this autobiography. Had it been 
that of a mere hero of romance — one of those heroic youths who figure in the 
novels of Scott and James — there would have been no call to introduce the 
reader to a personage already so often and so charmingly depicted. Mr. Barry 
Lyndon is not, we repeat, a hero of the common pattern ; but let the reader 
look round, and ask himself, Do not as many rogues succeed in life as honest 
men ? more fools than men of talent ? And is it not just that the lives of this 
class should be described by the student of human nature as well as the actions 
of those fairy-tale princes, those perfect impossible heroes, whom our writers 
love to describe ? There is something naive and simple in that time-honoured 
style of novel-writing by which Prince Prettyman, at the end of his adventures, 
is put in possession of every worldly prosperity, as he has been endowed with 
every mental and bodily excellence previously. The novelist thinks that he can 
do no more for his darling hero than make him a lord. Is it not a poor standard 
that of the summnm bonum ? The greatest good in life is not to be a lord ; 
perhaps not even to be happy. Poverty, illness, a humpback, may be rewards 
and conditions of good, as well as that bodily prosperity which all of us uncon- 
sciously set up for worship. But this is a subject for an essay, not a note ; and 
it is best to allow Mr. Lyndon to resume the candid and ingenious narrative of 
his virtues and defects. 


217 


MY LOSSES ON THE TURF 

Newmarket stakes, for which he was the first favourite, I found that 
a noble earl, who shall be nameless, had got into his stable the morn- 
ing before he ran ; and the consequence was that an outside horse 
won, and your humble servant was out to the amount of fifteen thou- 
sand pounds. Strangers had no chance in those days on the heath : 
and, though dazzled by the splendour and fashion assembled there, 
and surrounded by the greatest persons of the land, — the royal dukes, 
with their wives and splendid equipages ; old Grafton, with his queer 
bevy of company, and such men as Ancaster, Sandwich, Lorn, — a 
man might have considered himself certain of fair play and have 
been not a little proud of the society he kept ; yet, I promise you, 
that, exalted as it was, there was no set of men in Europe who knew 
how to rob more genteelly, to bubble a stranger, to bribe a jockey, to 
doctor a horse, or to arrange a betting-book. Even / couldn’t stand 
against these accomplished gamesters of the highest families in 
Europe. Was it my own want of style, or my want of fortune ? 
I know not. But now I was arrived at the height of my ambition 
both my skill and my luck seemed to be deserting me. Everything 
I touched crumbled in my hand ; every speculation I had failed ; 
every agent I trusted deceived me. I am, indeed, one of those born 
to make, and not to keep fortunes; for the qualities and energy 
which lead a man to effect the first are often the very causes of his 
ruin in the latter case : indeed I know of no other reason for the 
misfortunes which finally befell me.* 

I had always a taste for men of letters, and perhaps, if the 
truth must be told, have no objection to playing the fine gentleman 
and patron among the wits. Such people are usually needy, and 
of low birth, and have an instinctive awe and love of a gentleman 
and a laced coat ; as all must have remarked who have frequented 
their society. Mr. Reynolds, who was afterwards knighted, and 
certainly the most elegant painter of his day, was a pretty dexterous 
courtier of the wit tribe ; and it was through this gentleman, who 
painted a piece of me, Lady Lyndon, and our little Bryan, which 
was greatly admired at the Exhibition (I was represented as quitting 
my wife, in the costume of the Tippleton Yeomanry, of which I was 
major; the child starting back from my helmet like what-d’ye- 
call’im — Hector’s son, as described by Mr. Pope in his “ Iliad ”) ; 
it was through Mr. Reynolds that I was introduced to a score of 
these gentlemen, and their great chief, Mr. Johnson. I always 
thought their great chief a great bear. He drank tea twice or 
thrice at my house, misbehaving himself most grossly ; treating my 
opinions with no more respect than those of a schoolboy, and telling 

* The memoirs seem to have been written about the year 1814, in that calm 
retreat which Fortune had selected for the author at the close of his life. 


218 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

me to mind my horses and tailors, and not trouble myself about 
letters. His Scotch bear-leader, Mr. Boswell, was a butt of the 
first quality. I never saw such a figure as the fellow cut in what 
he called a Corsican habit, at one of Mrs. Cornely’s balls, at Carlisle 
House, Soho. But that the stories connected with that same 
establishment are not the most profitable tales in the world, I 
could tell tales of scores of queer doings there. All the high and 
low demireps of the town gathered there, from his Grace of Ancaster 
down to my countryman, poor Mr. Oliver Goldsmith the poet, and 
from the Duchess of Kingston down to the Bird of Paradise, or 
Kitty Fisher. Here I have met very queer characters, who came 
to queer ends too : poor Hackman, that afterwards w T as hanged for 
killing Miss Reay, and (on the sly) his Reverence Doctor Simony, 
whom my friend Sam Foote, of the “ Little Theatre,” bade to 
live even after forgery and the rope cut short the unlucky parson’s 
career. 

It was a merry place, London, in those days, and that’s the 
truth. I’m writing now in my gouty old age, and people have 
grown vastly more moral and matter-of-fact than they were at the 
close of the last century, when the world was young with me. 
There was a difference between a gentleman and a common fellow 
in those times. We wore silk and embroidery then. Now every 
man has the same coachmanlike look in his belcher and caped coat, 
and there is no outward difference between my Lord and his groom. 
Then it took a man of fashion a couple of hours to make his toilette, 
and he could show some taste and genius in the selecting it. What 
a blaze of splendour was a drawing-room, or an opera, of a gala 
night ! What sums of money were lost and won at the delicious 
faro-table ! My gilt curricle and outriders, blazing in green and 
gold, were very different objects from the equipages you see nowa- 
days in the ring, with the stunted grooms behind them. A man 
could drink four times as much as the milksops nowadays can 
swallow; but ’tis useless expatiating on this theme. Gentlemen 
are dead and gone. The fashion has now turned upon your 
soldiers and sailors, and I grow quite moody and sad when I think 
of thirty years ago. 

This is a chapter devoted to reminiscences of what was a very 
happy and splendid time with me, but presenting little of mark 
in the way of adventure ; as is generally the case when times are 
happy and easy. It would seem idle to fill pages with accounts of 
the everyday occupations of a man of fashion, — the fair ladies who 
smiled upon him, the dresses he wore, the matches he played, and 
won or lost. At this period of time, when youngsters are employed 
cutting the Frenchmen’s throats in Spain and France, lying out in 


I SET THE FASHION TO DUBLIN 219 

bivouacs, and feeding off commissariat beef and biscuit, they would 
not understand what a life their ancestors led ; and so I shall leave 
further discourse upon the pleasures of the times when even the 
Prince was a lad in leading-strings, when Charles Fox had not 
subsided into a mere statesman, and Buonaparte was a beggarly 
brat in his native island. 

Whilst these improvements were going on in my estates,— my 
house, from an antique Norman castle, being changed to an elegant 
Greek temple, or palace — my gardens and woods losing their rustic 
appearance to be adapted to the most genteel French style — my 
child growing up at his mother’s knees, and my influence in the 
country increasing, — it must not be imagined that I stayed in 
Devonshire all this while, and that I neglected to make visits to 
London, and my various estates in England and Ireland. 

I went to reside at the Trecothick estate and the Polwellan 
Wheal, where I found, instead of profit, every kind of pettifogging 
chicancery ; I passed over in state to our territories in Ireland, 
where I entertained the gentry in a style the Lord Lieutenant him- 
self could not equal ; gave the fashion to Dublin (to be sure it was 
a beggarly savage city in those days ; and, since the time there has 
been a pother about the Union, and the misfortunes attending it, 
I have been at a loss to account for the mad praises of the old order 
of things, which the fond Irish patriots have invented) ; I say I set 
the fashion to Dublin ; and small praise to me, for a poor place it 
was in those times, whatever the Irish party may say. 

In a former chapter I have given you a description of it. It 
was the Warsaw of our part of the world : there was a splendid, 
ruined, half-civilised nobility, ruling over a half-savage population. 
I say half-savage advisedly. The commonalty in the streets were 
wild, unshorn, and in rags. The most public places were not safe 
after nightfall. The College, the public buildings, and the great 
gentry’s houses were splendid (the latter unfinished for the most 
part) ; but the people were in a state more wretched than any 
vulgar I have ever known : the exercise of their religion was only 
half allowed to them; their clergy were forced to be educated out 
of the country ; their aristocracy was quite distinct from them ; 
there was a Protestant nobility, and in the towns, poor insolent 
Protestant corporations, with a bankrupt retinue of mayors, aider- 
men, and municipal officers — all of whom figured in addresses and 
had the public voice in the country ; but there was no sympathy 
and connection between the upper and the lower people of the 
Irish. To one who had been bred so much abroad as myself, this 
difference between Catholic and Protestant was doubly striking; 
and though as firm as a rock in my own faith, yet I could not 


220 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

help remembering my grandfather held a different one, and wonder- 
ing that there should be such a political difference between the two. 
I passed among my neighbours for a dangerous leveller, for enter- 
taining and expressing such opinions, and especially for asking the 
priest of the parish to my table at Castle Lyndon. He was a 
gentleman, educated at Salamanca, and, to my mind, a far better 
bred and more agreeable companion than his comrade the rector, 
who had but a dozen Protestants for his congregation ; who was 
a lord’s son, to be sure, but he could hardly spell, and the great 
field of his labours was in the kennel and cockpit. 

I did not extend and beautify the house of Castle Lyndon as I 
had done our other estates, but contented myself with paying an 
occasional visit there; exercising an almost royal hospitality, and 
keeping open house during my stay. When absent, I gave to my 
aunt, the widow Brady, and her six unmarried daughters (although 
they always detested me), permission to inhabit the place ; my 
mother preferring my new mansion of Barryogue. 

And as my Lord Bullingdon was by this time grown excessively 
tall and troublesome, I determined to leave him under the care of a 
proper governor in Ireland, with Mrs. Brady and her six daughters 
to take care of him ; and he was welcome to fall in love with all 
the old ladies if he were so minded, and thereby imitate his step- 
father’s example. When tired of Castle Lyndon, his Lordship was 
at liberty to go and reside at my house with my mamma ; but there 
was no love lost between him and her, and, on account of my son 
Bryan, I think she hated him as cordially as ever I myself could 
possibly do. 

The county of Devon is not so lucky as the neighbouring county 
of Cornwall, and has not the share of representatives which the 
latter possesses; where I have known a moderate country gentle- 
man, with a few score of hundreds per annum from his estate, 
treble his income by returning three or four Members to Parliament, 
and by the influence with Ministers which these seats gave him. 
The parliamentary interest of the house of Lyndon had been grossly 
neglected during my wife’s minority, and the incapacity of the Earl 
her father ; or, to speak more correctly, it had been smuggled away 
from the Lyndon family altogether by the adroit old hypocrite of 
Tiptoff Castle, who acted as most kinsmen and guardians do by 
their wards and relatives, and robbed them. The Marquess of 
Tiptoff returned four Members to Parliament : two for the borough 
of Tippleton, which, as all the world knows, lies at the foot of our 
estate of Hackton, bounded on the other side by Tiptoff Park. 
For time out of mind we had sent Members for that borough, until 
Tiptoff, taking advantage of the late lord’s imbecility, put in his 


PARLIAMENTARY MATTERS 


221 


own nominees. When his eldest son became of age, of course my 
Lord was to take his seat for Tippleton; when Rigby (Nabob 
Rigby, who made his fortune under Clive in India) died, the 
Marquess thought fit to bring down his second son, my Lord George 
Poynings, to whom I have introduced the reader in a former 
chapter, and determined, in his high mightiness, that he too should 
go in and swell the ranks of the Opposition — the big old Whigs, 
with whom the Marquess acted. 

Rigby had been for some time in an ailing condition previous to 
his demise, and you may be sure that the circumstance of his failing 
health had not been passed over by the gentry of the county, who 
were stanch Government men for the most part, and hated my 
Lord Tiptoff’s principles as dangerous and ruinous. “ We have been 
looking out for a man to fight against him,” said the squires to me ; 
“we can only match Tiptoff out of Hackton Castle. You, Mr. 
Lyndon, are our man, and at the next county election we will swear 
to bring you in.” 

I hated the Tiptoffs so, that I would have fought them at any 
election. They not only would not visit at Hackton, but declined 
to receive those who visited us ; they kept the women of the county 
from receiving my wife ; they invented half the wild stories of my 
profligacy and extravagance with which the neighbourhood was 
entertained ; they said I had frightened my wife into marriage, and 
that she was a lost woman ; they hinted that Bullingdon’s life was 
not secure under my roof, that his treatment was odious, and that 
I wanted to put him out of the way to make place for Bryan my 
son. I could scarce have a friend to Hackton, but they counted 
the bottles drunk at my table. They ferreted out my dealings 
with my lawyers and agents. If a creditor was unpaid, every 
item of his bill was known at Tiptoff Hall ; if I looked at a farmer’s 
daughter, it was said I had ruined her. My faults are many, I 
confess, and as a domestic character, I can’t boast of any particular 
regularity, or temper; but Lady Lyndon and I did not quarrel 
more than fashionable people do, and, at first, we always used to 
make it up pretty well. I am a man full of errors, certainly, but 
not the devil that these odious backbiters at Tiptoff represented me 
to be. For the first three years I never struck my wife but when I 
was in liquor. When I flung the carving-knife at Bullingdon I was 
drunk, as everybody present can testify; but as for having any 
systematic scheme against the poor lad, I can declare solemnly that, 
beyond merely hating him (and one’s inclinations are not in one’s 
power), I am guilty of no evil towards him. 

I had sufficient motives, then, for enmity against the Tiptoffs, 
and am not a man to let a feeling of that kind lie inactive. Though 


222 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

a Whig, or, perhaps, because a Whig, the Marquess was one of the 
haughtiest men breathing, and treated commoners as his idol the 
great Earl used to treat them — after he came to a coronet himself 
— as so many low vassals, who might be proud to lick his shoe- 
buckle. When the Tippleton mayor and corporation waited upon 
him, he received them covered, never offered Mr. Mayor a chair, 
but retired when the refreshments were brought, or had them served 
to the worshipful aldermen in the steward’s room. These honest 
Britons never rebelled against such treatment, until instructed to do 
so by my patriotism. No, the dogs liked to be bullied ; and, in the 
course of a long experience, I have met with but very few Englishmen 
who are not of their way of thinking. 

It was not until I opened their eyes that they knew their 
degradation. I invited the Mayof to Hackton, and Mrs. Mayoress 
(a very buxom pretty groceress she was, by the way) I made sit by 
my wife, and drove them both out to the races in my curricle. 
Lady Lyndon fought very hard against this condescension ; but I 
had a way with her, as the saying is, and though she had a temper, 
yet I had a better one. A temper, psha ! A wild-cat has a temper, 
but a keeper can get the better of it ; and I know very few women 
in the world whom I could not master. 

“ Well, I made much of the mayor and corporation ; sent them 
bucks for their dinners, or asked them to mine ; made a point of 
attending their assemblies, dancing with their wives and daughters, 
going through, in short, all the acts of politeness which are necessary 
on such occasions : and though old Tiptoff must have seen my goings 
on, yet his head was so much in the clouds, that he never once con- 
descended to imagine his dynasty could be overthrown in his own 
town of Tippleton, and issued his mandates as securely as if he had 
been the Grand Turk, and the Tippletonians no better than so 
many slaves of his will. 

Every post which brought us any account of Rigby’s increasing 
illness, was the sure occasion of a dinner from me ; so much so, that 
my friends of the hunt used to laugh and say, “ Rigby’s worse ; 
there’s a corporation dinner at Hackton.” 

It was in 1776, when the American war broke out, that I came 
into Parliament. My Lord Chatham, whose wisdom his party in 
those days used to call superhuman, raised his oracular voice in the 
House of Peers against the American contest ; and my countryman, 
Mr. Burke — a great philosopher, but a plaguey long-winded orator 
— was the champion of the rebels in the Commons — where, however, 
thanks to British patriotism, he could get very few to back him. 
Old Tiptoff would have sworn black was white if the great Earl had 
bidden him ; and he made his son give up his commission in the 


I AM RETURNED TO PARLIAMENT 223 


Guards, in imitation of my Lord Pitt, who resigned his ensigncy 
rather than fight against what he called his American brethren. 

But this was a height of patriotism extremely little relished in 
England, where, ever since the breaking out of hostilities, our people 
hated the Americans heartily ; and where, when we heard of the 
fight of Lexington, and the glorious victory of Bunker’s Hill (as we 
used to call it in those days), the nation flushed out in its usual 
hot-headed anger. The talk was all against the philosophers after 
that, and the people were most indomitably loyal. It was not until 
the land-tax was increased, that the gentry began to grumble a 
little ; but still my party in the West was very strong against the 
Tiptofls, and I determined to take the field and win as usual. 

The old Marquess neglected every one of the decent precautions 
which are requisite in a parliamentary campaign. He signified to 
the corporation and freeholders his intention of presenting his son, 
Lord George, and his desire that the latter should be elected their 
burgess ; but he scarcely gave so much as a glass of beer to whet 
the devotedness of his adherents : and I, as I need not say, engaged 
every tavern in Tippleton in my behalf. 

There is no need to go over the twenty-times-told tale of an 
election. I rescued the borough of Tippleton from the hands of 
Lord Tiptoff and his son, Lord George. I had a savage sort of 
satisfaction, too, in forcing my wife (who had been at one time ex- 
ceedingly smitten by her kinsman, as I have already related) to take 
part against him, and to wear and distribute my colours when 
the day of election came. And when we spoke at one another, I 
told the crowd that I had beaten Lord George in love, that I had 
beaten him in war, and that I would now beat him in Parliament ; 
and so I did, as the event proved : for, to the inexpressible anger of 
the old Marquess, Barry Lyndon, Esquire, was returned member of 
Parliament for Tippleton, in place of John Rigby, Esquire, deceased , 
and I threatened him at the next election to turn him out of both 
his seats, and went to attend my duties in Parliament. 

It was then I seriously determined on achieving for myself 
the Irish peerage, to be enjoyed after me by my beloved son 
and heir. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

IN WHICH MY GOOD FORTUNE BEGINS TO WAVER 


A ND now, if any people should be disposed to think my history 
immoral (for I have heard some assert that I was a man 
L who never deserved that so much prosperity should fall 
to my share), I will beg those cavillers to do me the favour to 
read the conclusion of my adventures ; when they will see it 
was no such great prize that I had won, and that wealth, splendour, 
thirty thousand per annum, and a seat in Parliament, are often 
purchased at too dear a rate, when one has to buy those enjoyments 
at the price of personal liberty, and saddled with the charge of a 
troublesome wife. 

They are the deuce, these troublesome wives, and that is the 
truth. No man knows until he tries how wearisome and dis- 
heartening the burthen of one of them is, and how the annoyance 
grows and strengthens from year to year, and the courage becomes 
weaker to bear it; so that that trouble which seemed light and 
trivial the first year, becomes intolerable ten years after. I have 
heard of one of the classical fellows in the dictionary who began 
by carrying a calf up a hill every day, and so continued until the 
animal grew to be a bull, which he still easily accommodated upon 
his shoulders; but take my word for it, young unmarried gentle- 
men, a wife is a very much harder pack to the back than the 
biggest heifer in Smithfield : and, if I can prevent one of you 
from marrying, the “ Memoirs of Barry Lyndon, Esq.,” will not be 
written in vain. Not that my Lady was a scold or a shrew, as 
some wives are ; I could have managed to have cured her of that ; 
but she was of a cowardly, crying, melancholy, maudlin temper, 
which is to me still more odious : do what one would to please her, 
she would never be happy or in good-humour. I left her alone 
after a while ; and because, as was natural in my case, where a 
disagreeable home obliged me to seek amusement and companions 
abroad, she added a mean detestable jealousy to all her other faults : 
I could not for some time pay the commonest attention to any 
other woman, but my Lady Lyndon must weep, and wring her 
hands, and threaten to commit suicide, and I know not what. 


22 5 


LADY LYNDON’S INFATUATION 

Her death would have been no comfort to me, as I leave 
any person of common prudence to imagine; for that scoundrel 
of a young Bullingdon (who was now growing up a tall, gawky, 
swarthy lad, and about to become my greatest plague and annoy- 
ance) would have inherited every penny of the property, and I 
should have been left considerably poorer even than when I married 
the widow : for I spent my personal fortune as well as the lady’s 
income in the keeping up of our rank, and was always too much 
a man of honour and spirit to save a penny of Lady Lyndon’s 
income. Let this be flung in the teeth of my detractors, who say 
I never could have so injured the Lyndon property had I not been 
making a private purse for myself ; and who believe that, even in 
my present painful situation, I have hoards of gold laid by some- 
where, and could come out as a Croesus when I choose. I never 
raised a shilling upon Lady Lyndon’s property but I spent it like 
a man of honour ; besides incurring numberless personal obligations 
for money, which all went to the common stock. Independent of 
the Lyndon mortgages and encumbrances, I owe myself at least 
one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, which I spent while 
in occupancy of my wife’s estate ; so that I may justly say that 
property is indebted to me in the above-mentioned sum. 

Although I have described the utter disgust and distaste 
which speedily took possession of my breast as regarded Lady 
Lyndon ; and although I took no particular pains (for I am all 
frankness and aboveboard) to disguise my feelings in general, yet 
she was of such a mean spirit, that she pursued me with her 
regard in spite of my indifference to her, and would kindle up at 
the smallest kind word I spoke to her. The fact is, between my 
respected reader and myself, that I was one of the handsomest and 
most dashing young men of England in those days, and my wife 
was violently in love with me ; and though I say it who shouldn’t, 
as the phrase goes, my wife was not the only woman of rank in 
London who had a favourable opinion of the humble Irish adven- 
turer. What a riddle these women are, I have often thought ! I 
have seen the most elegant creatures at St. James’s grow wild 
for love of the coarsest and most vulgar of men; the cleverest 
women passionately admire the most illiterate of our sex, and so 
on. There is no end to the contrariety in the foolish creatures; 
and though I don’t mean to hint that / am vulgar or illiterate, 
as the persons mentioned above (I would cut the throat of any 
man who dared to whisper a word against my birth or my breed- 
ing), yet I have shown that Lady Lyndon had plenty or reason 
to° dislike me if she chose : but, like the rest of her silly sex, she 
governed by infatuation, not reason ; and, up to the very 
4 P 


was 


226 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

last (lay of our being together, would be reconciled to me, and 
fondle me, if I addressed her a single kind word. 

“ Ah,” she would say, in these moments of tenderness — “ Ah, 
Redmond , if you would always be so ! ” And in these fits of love 
she was the most easy creature in the world to be persuaded, and 
would have signed away her whole property, had it been possible. 
And, I must confess, it was with very little attention on my part 
that I could bring her into good-humour. To walk with her on 
the Mall, or at Ranelagh, to attend her to church at St. James’s, 
to purchase any little present or trinket for her, was enough to 
coax her. Such is female inconsistency ! The next day she would 
be calling me “Mr. Barry” probably, and be bemoaning her 
miserable fate that she ever should have been united to such a 
monster. So it was she was ‘pleased to call one of the most brilliant 
men in his Majesty’s three kingdoms : and I warrant me other 
ladies had a much more flattering opinion of me. 

Then she would threaten to leave me ; but I had a hold of her 
in the person of her son, of whom she was passionately fond : I 
don’t know why, for she had always neglected Bullingdon, her elder 
son, and never bestowed a thought upon his health, his welfare, or 
his education. 

It was our young boy, then, who formed the great bond of 
union between me and her Ladyship ; and there was no plan of 
ambition I could propose in which she would not join for the poor 
lad’s behoof, and no expense she would not eagerly incur, if it 
might by any means be shown to tend to his advancement. I 
can tell you, bribes were administered, and in high places too, — 
so near the royal person of his Majesty, that you would be 
astonished were I to mention what great personages condescended 
to receive our loans. I got from the English and Irish heralds a 
description and detailed pedigree of the Barony of Barryogue, and 
claimed respectfully to be reinstated in my ancestral titles, and also 
to be rewarded with the Viscounty of Ballybarry. “This head 
would become a coronet,” my Lady would sometimes say, in her 
fond moments, smoothing down my hair; and, indeed, there is 
many a puny whipster in their Lordships’ house who has neither 
my presence nor my courage, my pedigree, nor any of my merits. 

The striving after this peerage I consider to have been one of 
the most unlucky of all my unlucky dealings at this period. I 
made unheard-of sacrifices to bring it about. I lavished money 
here and diamonds there. I bought lands at ten times their value ; 
purchased pictures and articles of vertu at ruinous prices. I gave 
repeated entertainments to those friends to my claims who, being 
about the Royal person, were likely to advance it. I lost many a 


THIRTEENTH EARL OF CRABS 


227 


bet to the Royal Dukes his Majesty’s brothers ; but let these 
matters be forgotten, and, because of my private injuries, let me not 
be deficient in loyalty to my Sovereign. 

The only person in this transaction whom I shall mention 
openly, is that old scamp and swindler, Gustavus Adolphus, 
thirteenth Earl of Crabs. This nobleman was one of the gentle- 
men of his Majesty’s closet, and one with whom the revered 
monarch was on terms of considerable intimacy. A close regard 
had sprung up between them in the old King’s time ; when his 
Royal Highness, playing at battledore and shuttlecock with the 
young lord on the landing-place of the great staircase at Kew, in 
some moment of irritation the Prince of Wales kicked the young 
Earl downstairs, who, falling, broke his leg. The Prince’s hearty 
repentance for his violence caused him to ally himself closely with 
the person whom he had injured ; and when his Majesty came to 
the throne there was no man, it is said, of whom the Earl of Bute 
was so jealous as of my Lord Crabs. The latter was poor and 
extravagant, and Bute got him out of the way, by sending him on 
the Russian and other embassies ; but on this favourite’s dismissal, 
Crabs sped back from the Continent, and was appointed almost 
immediately to a place about his Majesty’s person. 

It was with this disreputable nobleman that I contracted an 
unlucky intimacy; when, fresh and unsuspecting, I first established 
myself in town, after my marriage with Lady Lyndon : and, as 
Crabs was really one of the most entertaining fellows in the world, 
I took a sincere pleasure in his company ; besides the interested 
desire I had in cultivating the society of a man who was so near 
the person of the highest personage in the realm. 

To hear the fellow, you would fancy that there was scarce any 
appointment made in which he had not a share. He told me, for 
instance, of Charles Fox being turned out of his place a day before 
poor Charley himself was aware of the fact. He told me when the 
Howes were coming back from America, and who was to succeed 
to the command there. Not to multiply instances, it was upon 
this person that I fixed my chief reliance for the advancement of 
my claim to the Barony of Barryogue and the Viscounty which I 
proposed to get. 

One of the main causes of expense which this ambition of mine 
entailed upon me was the fitting out and arming a company of 
infantry from the Castle Lyndon and Hackton estates in Ireland, 
which I offered to my gracious Sovereign for the campaign against 
the American rebels. These troops, superbly equipped and clothed, 
were embarked at Portsmouth in the year 1778 ; and the patriotism 
of the gentleman who had raised them was so acceptable at Court, 


228 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

that, on being presented by my Lord North, his Majesty con- 
descended to notice me particularly, and said, “ That’s right, Mr. 
Lyndon, raise another company ; and go with them, too ! ” But 
this was by no means, as the reader may suppose, to my notions. 
A man with thirty thousand pounds per annum is a fool to risk 
his life like a common beggar : and on this account I have always 
admired the conduct of my friend Jack Bolter, who had been a 
most active and resolute cornet of horse, and, as such, engaged in 
every scrape and skirmish which could fall to his lot ; but just 
before the battle of Minden he received news that his uncle, the 
great army contractor, was dead, and had left him five thousand 
per annum. Jack that instant applied for leave ; and, as it was 
refused him on the eve of a general action, my gentleman took it, 
and never fired a pistol again : except against an officer who ques- 
tioned his courage, and whom he winged in such a cool and deter- 
mined manner, as showed all the world that it was from prudence 
and a desire of enjoying his money, not from cowardice, that he 
quitted the profession of arms. 

When this Hackton company was raised, my stepson, who was 
now sixteen years of age, was most eager to be allowed to join it, 
and I would have gladly consented to have been rid of the young 
man ; but his guardian, Lord Tiptoff, who thwarted me in every- 
thing, refused his permission, and the lad’s military inclinations were 
balked. If he could have gone on the expedition, and a rebel rifle 
had put an end to him, I believe, to tell the truth, I should not 
have been grieved overmuch ; and I should have had the pleasure of 
seeing my other son the heir to the estate which his father had won 
with so much pains. 

The education of this young nobleman had been, I confess, some 
of the loosest; and perhaps the truth is, I did neglect the brat. 
He was of so wild, savage, and insubordinate a nature, that I never 
had the least regard for him; and before me and his mother, at 
least, was so moody and dull, that I thought instruction thrown 
away upon him, and left him for the most part to shift for himself. 
For two whole years he remained in Ireland, away from us; and 
when in England, we kept him mainly at Hackton, never caring to 
have the uncouth, ungainly lad in the genteel company in the capital 
in which we naturally mingled. My own poor boy, on the contrary, 
was the most polite and engaging child ever seen : it was a pleasure 
to treat him with kindness and distinction ; and before he was five 
years old, the little fellow was the pink of fashion, beauty, and 
good breeding. 

In fact he could not have been otherwise, with the care both 
his parents bestowed upon him, and the attentions that were lavished 


BRYAN DISPLEASES THE RECTOR 229 

upon him in every way. When he was four years old, I quarrelled 
with the English nurse who had attended upon him, and about 
whom my wife had been so jealous, and procured for him a French 
gouvernante , who had lived with families of the first quality in 
Paris ; and who, of course, must set my Lady Lyndon jealous too. 
Under the care of this young woman my little rogue learned to 
chatter French most charmingly. It would have done your heart 
good to hear the dear rascal swear Mort de ma vie ! and to see 
him stamp his little foot, and send the manants and canaille of the 
domestics to the trente mille diables. He was precocious in all 
things : at a very early age he would mimic everybody ; at five, he 
would sit at table, and drink his glass of champagne with the best 
of us ; and his nurse would teach him little French catches, and the 
last Parisian songs of Yade and Collard, — pretty songs they were 
too ; and would make such of his hearers as understood French 
burst with laughing, and, I promise you, scandalise some of the old 
dowagers who were admitted into the society of his mamma : not 
that there were many of them ; for I did not encourage the visits 
of what you call respectable people to Lady Lyndon. They are 
sad spoilers of sport, — tale-bearers, envious narrow-minded people ; 
making mischief between man and wife. Whenever any of these 
grave personages in hoops and high heels used to make their appear- 
ance at Hackton, or in Berkeley Square, it was my chief pleasure 
to frighten them off ; and I would make my little Bryan dance, 
sing, and play the diable a quatre , and aid him myself, so as to 
scare the old frumps. 

I never shall forget the solemn remonstrances of our old square- 
toes of a rector at Hackton, who made one or two vain attempts to 
teach little Bryan Latin, and with whose innumerable children I 
sometimes allowed the boy to associate. They learned some of 
Bryan’s French songs from him, which their mother, a poor soul 
who understood pickles and custards much better than French, used 
fondly to encourage them in singing; but which their father one 
day hearing, he sent Miss Sarah to her bedroom and bread and 
water for a week, and solemnly horsed Master Jacob in the presence 
of all his brothers and sisters, and of Bryan, to whom he hoped 
that flogging would act as a warning. But my little rogue kicked 
and plunged at the old parson’s shins until he was obliged to get 
his sexton to hold him down, and swore, corbleu, morbleu, ventrebleu , 
that his young friend Jacob should not be maltreated. After this 
scene, his reverence forbade Bryan the rectory-house ; on which I 
swore that his eldest son, who was bringing up for the ministry, 
should never have the succession of the living of Hackton, which 
I had thoughts of bestowing on him ; and his father said, with a 


230 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

canting hypocritical air, which I hate, that Heaven’s will must 
be (lone; that he would not have his children disobedient or cor- 
rupted for the sake of a bishopric; and wrote me a pompous and 
solemn letter, charged with Latin quotations, taking farewell of me 
and my house. “I do so with regret,” added the old gentleman, 
“for I have received so many kindnesses from the Hackton family 
that it goes to my heart to be disunited from them. My poor, I 
fear, may suffer in consequence of my separation from you, and 
my being henceforward unable to bring to your notice instances of 
distress and affliction ; which, when they were known to you, I 
will do you the justice to say, your generosity was always prompt 
to relieve.” 

There may have been some truth in this, for the old gentleman 
was perpetually pestering me with petitions, and I know for a 
certainty, from his own charities, was often without a shilling in 
his pocket; but I suspect the good dinners at Hackton had a 
considerable share in causing his regrets at the dissolution of our 
intimacy : and I know that his wife was quite sorry to forego the 
acquaintance of Bryan’s gouvernante , Mademoiselle Louison, who 
had all the newest French fashions at her fingers’ ends, and who 
never went to the rectory but you would see the girls of the family 
turn out in new sacks or mantles the Sunday after. 

I used to punish the old rebel by snoring very loud in my 
pew on Sundays during sermon-time; and I got a governor pre- 
sently for Bryan, and a chaplain of my own, when he became of 
age sufficient to be separated from the women’s society and guardian- 
ship. His English nurse I married to my head gardener, with a 
handsome portion; his French gouvernante I bestowed upon my 
faithful German Fritz, not forgetting the dowry in the latter 
instance ; and they set up a French dining-house in Soho, and I 
believe at the time I write they are richer in the world’s goods 
than their generous and free-handed master. 

For Bryan I now got a young gentleman from Oxford, the 
Rev. Edmund Lavender, who was commissioned to teach him Latin, 
when the boy was in the humour, and to ground him in history, 
grammar, and the other qualifications of a gentleman. Lavender 
was a precious addition to our society at Hackton. He was the 
means of making a deal of fun there. He was the butt of all 
our jokes, and bore them with the most admirable and martyr- 
like patience. He was one of that sort of men who would rather 
be kicked by a great man than not be noticed by him; and I 
have often put his wig into the fire in the face of the company, 
when he would laugh at the joke as well as any man there. It 
was a delight to put him on a high-mettled horse, and send him 


THE CASTLE LYNDON ESTATE 231 

after the hounds, — pale, sweating, calling on us, for Heaven’s sake, 
to stop, and holding on for dear life by the mane and the crupper. 
How it happened that the fellow was never killed I know not; 
but I suppose hanging is the way in which his neck will be broke. 
He never met with any accident, to speak of, in our hunting- 
matches : but you were pretty sure to find him at dinner in his 
place at the bottom of the table making the punch, whence he 
would be carried off fuddled to bed before the night was over. 
Many a time have Bryan and I painted his face black on those 
occasions. We put him into a haunted room, and frightened his 
soul out of his body with ghosts ; we let loose cargoes of rats upon 
his bed ; we cried fire, and filled his boots with water ; we cut 
the legs of his preaching-chair, and filled his sermon-book with 
snuff. Poor Lavender bore it all with patience ; and at our parties, 
or when we came to London, was amply repaid by being allowed 
to sit with the gentlefolks, and to fancy himself in the society of 
men of fashion. It was good to hear the contempt with which 
he talked about our rector. “ He has a son, sir, who is a servitor : 
and a servitor at a small college,” he would say. “How could 
you, my dear sir, think of giving the reversion of Hackton to 
such a low-bred creature ? ” 

I should now speak of my other son, at least my Lady Lyndon’s : 
I mean the Viscount Bullingdon. I kept him in Ireland for some 
years, under the guardianship of my mother, whom I had installed 
at Castle Lyndon ; and great, I promise you, was her state in that 
occupation, and prodigious the good soul’s splendour and haughty 
bearing. With all her oddities the Castle Lyndon estate was the 
best managed of all our possessions ; the rents were excellently paid, 
the charges of getting them in smaller than they would have been 
under the management of any steward. It was astonishing what 
small expenses the good widow incurred ; although she kept up the 
dignity of the two families, as she would say. She had a set of 
domestics to attend upon the young lord ; she never went out her- 
self but in an old gilt coach and six ; the house was kept clean and 
tight ; the furniture and gardens in the best repair ; and, in our 
occasional visits to Ireland, we never found any house we visited in 
such good condition as our own. There were a score of ready serving- 
lasses, and half as many trim men about the castle ; and everything 
in as fine condition as the best housekeeper could make it. All 
this she did with scarcely any charges to us : for she fed sheep 
and cattle in the parks, and made a handsome profit of them at 
Ballinasloe; she supplied I don’t know how many towns with 
butter and bacon ; and the fruit and vegetables from the gardens 
pf Castle Lyndon got the highest prices in Dublin market. She 


232 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

had no waste in the kitchen, as there used to be in most of our 
Irish houses ; and there was no consumption of liquor in the cellars, 
for the old lady drank water, and saw little or no company. All 
her society was a couple of the girls of my ancient flame Nora 
Brady, now Mrs. Quin ; who with her husband had spent almost 
all their property, and who came to see me once in London, looking 
very old, fat, and slatternly, with two dirty children at her side. 
She wept very much when she saw me, called me “Sir” and “Mr. 
Lyndon,” at which I was not sorry, and begged me to help her 
husband ; which I did, getting him, through my friend Lord Crabs, 
a place in the excise in Ireland, and paying the passage of his family 
and himself to that country. I found him a dirty, cast -down, 
snivelling drunkard; and, looking at poor Nora, could not but 
wonder at the days when I had thought her a divinity. But if 
ever I have had a regard for a woman, I remain through life her 
constant friend, and could mention a thousand such instances of 
my generous and faithful disposition. 

Young Bullingdon, however, was almost the only person with 
whom she was concerned that my mother could not keep in order. 
The accounts she sent me of him at first were such as gave my 
paternal heart considerable pain. He rejected all regularity and 
authority. He would absent himself for weeks from the house on 
sporting or other expeditions. He was when at home silent and 
queer, refusing to make my mother’s game at piquet of evenings, 
but plunging into all sorts of musty old books, with which he 
muddled his brains ; more at ease laughing and chatting with the 
pipers and maids in the servants’ hall, than with the gentry in the 
drawing-room ; always cutting jibes and jokes at Mrs. Barry, at 
which she (who was rather a slow woman at repartee) would chafe 
violently : in fact, leading a life of insubordination and scandal. 
And, to crown all, the young scapegrace took to frequenting the 
society of the Romish priest of the parish — a threadbare rogue, 
from some Popish seminary in France or Spain — rather than the 
company of the vicar of Castle Lyndon, a gentleman of Trinity, who 
kept his hounds and drank his two bottles a day. 

Regard for the lad’s religion made me not hesitate then how I 
should act towards him. If I have any principle which has guided 
me through life, it has been respect for the Establishment, and a 
hearty scorn and abhorrence of all other forms of belief. I there- 
fore sent my French body-servant, in the year 17 — , to Dublin with 
a commission to bring the young reprobate over; and the report 
brought to me was that he had passed the whole of the last night 
of his stay in Ireland with his Popish friend at the mass-house; 
that he and my mother had a violent quarrel on the very last day ; 


INSOLENCE OF MY SON BULLINGDON 233 

that, on the contrary, he kissed Biddy and Dosy, her two nieces, 
who seemed very sorry that he should go ; and that being pressed 
to go and visit the rector, lie absolutely refused, saying he was a 
wicked old Pharisee, inside whose doors he would never set his foot. 
The doctor wrote me a letter, warning me against the deplorable 
errors of this young imp of perdition, as he called him ; and I could 
see that there was no love lost between them. But it appeared 
that, if not agreeable to the gentry of the country, young Bullingdon 
had a huge popularity among the common people. There was a 
regular crowd weeping round the gate when his coach took its 
departure. Scores of the ignorant savage wretches ran for miles 
along by the side of the chariot ; and some went even so far as to 
steal away before his departure, and appear at the Pigeon-House at 
Dublin to bid him a last farewell. It was with considerable 
difficulty that some of these people could be kept from secreting 
themselves in the vessel, and accompanying their young lord to 
England. 

To do the young scoundrel justice, when he came among us, he 
was a manly noble-looking lad, and everything in his bearing and 
appearance betokened the high blood from which he came. He was 
the very portrait of some of the dark cavaliers of the Lyndon race, 
whose pictures hung in the gallery at Hackton : where the lad was 
fond of spending the chief part of his time, occupied with the musty 
old books which he took out of the library, and which I hate to see 
a young man of spirit poring over. Always in my company he 
preserved the most rigid silence, and a haughty scornful demeanour ; 
which was so much the more disagreeable because there was nothing 
in his behaviour I could actually take hold of to find fault with : 
although his whole conduct was insolent and supercilious to the 
highest degree. His mother was very much agitated at receiving 
him on his arrival ; if he felt any such agitation he certainly did 
not show it. He made her a very low and formal bow when he 
kissed her hand ; and, when I held out mine, put both his hands 
behind his back, stared me full in the face, and bent his head, 
saying, “Mr. Barry Lyndon, I believe;” turned on his heel, and 
began talking about the state of the weather to his mother, whom 
he always styled “Your Ladyship.” She was angry at this pert 
bearing, and, when they were alone, rebuked him sharply for not 
shaking hands with his father. 

“My father, madam 1 ?” said he; “surely you mistake. My 
father was the Right Honourable Sir Charles Lyndon. I at least 
have not forgotten him, if others have.” It was a declaration of 
war to me, as I saw at once ; though I declare I was willing enough 
to have received the boy well on his coming amongst us, and to 


234 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

have lived with him on terms of friendliness. But as men serve 
me I serve them. Who can blame me for my after-quarrels with 
this young reprobate, or lay upon my shoulders the evils which 
afterwards befell? Perhaps I lost my temper, and my subsequent 
treatment of him was hard. But it was he began the quarrel, and 
not I ; and the evil consequences which ensued were entirely of his 
creating. 

As it is best to nip vice in the bud, and for a master of a family 
to exercise his authority in such a manner as that there may be no 
question about it, I took the earliest opportunity of coming to close 
quarters with Master Bullingdon ; and the day after his arrival 
among us, upon his refusal to perform some duty which I requested 
of him, I had him conveyed to my study, and thrashed him soundly. 
This process, I confess, at first, agitated me a good deal, for I had 
never laid a whip on a lord before ; but I got speedily used to the 
practice, and his back and my whip became so well acquainted, 
that I warrant there was very little ceremony between us after a 
while. 

If I were to repeat all the instances of the insubordination and 
brutal conduct of young Bullingdon, I should weary the reader. 
His perseverance in resistance was, I think, even greater than mine 
in correcting him : for a man, be he ever so much resolved to do his 
duty as a parent, can’t be flogging his children all day, or for every 
fault they commit : and though I got the character of being so cruel 
a stepfather to him, I pledge my word I spared him correction 
when he merited it many more times than I administered it. 
Besides, there were eight clear months in the year when he was 
quit of me, during the time of my presence in London, at my place 
in Parliament and at the Court of my Sovereign. 

At this period I made no difficulty to allow him to profit by 
the Latin and Greek of the old rector ; who had christened him, 
and had a considerable influence over the wayward lad. After a 
scene or a quarrel between us, it was generally to the rectory-house 
that the young rebel would fly for refuge and counsel ; and I must 
own that the parson was a pretty just umpire between us in our 
disputes. Once he led the boy back to Hackton by the hand, and 
actually brought him into my presence, although he had vowed 
never to enter the doors in my lifetime again, and said, “ He had 
brought his Lordship to acknowledge his error, and submit to 
any punishment I might think proper to inflict.” Upon which I 
caned him in the presence of two or three friends of mine, with 
whom I was sitting drinking at the time ; and to do him justice, 
he bore a pretty severe punishment without wincing or crying in 
the least. This will show that I was not too severe in my treatment 


I USE LADY LYNDON ROUGHLY 235 

of the lad, as I had the authority of the clergyman himself for 
inflicting the correction which I thought proper. 

Twice or thrice, Lavender, Bryan’s governor, attempted to punish 
my Lord Bullingdon ; but I promise you the rogue was too strong 
for him, and levelled the Oxford man to the ground with a chair : 
greatly to the delight of little Bryan, who cried out, “ Bravo, Bully ! 
thump him, thump him ! ” And Bully certainly did, to the governor’s 
heart’s content ; who never attempted personal chastisement after- 
wards ; but contented himself by bringing the tales of his Lordship’s 
misdoings to me, his natural protector and guardian. 

With the child, Bullingdon was, strange to say, pretty tractable. 
He took a liking for the little fellow, — as, indeed, everybody who 
saw that darling boy did, — liked him the more, he said, because 
he was “half a Lyndon.” And well he might like him, for many 
a time, at the dear angel’s intercession of “ Papa, don’t flog Bully 
to-day ! ” I have held my hand, and saved him a horsing, which he 
richly deserved. 

With his mother, at first, he would scarcely deign to have any 
communication. He said she was no longer one of the family. 
Why should he love her, as she had never been a mother to him ? 
But it will give the reader an idea of the dogged obstinacy and 
surliness of the lad’s character, when I mention one trait regarding 
him. It has been made a matter of complaint against me, that I 
denied him the education befitting a gentleman, and never sent him 
to college or to school; but the fact is, it was of his own choice 
that he went to neither. He had the offer repeatedly from me (who 
wished to see as little of his impudence as possible), but he as 
repeatedly declined; and, for a long time, I could not make out 
what was the charm which kept him in a house where he must 
have been far from comfortable. 

It came out, however, at last. There used to be very frequent 
disputes between my Lady Lyndon and myself, in which sometimes 
she was wrong, sometimes I was ; and which, as neither of us had 
very angelical tempers, used to run very high. I was often in 
liquor; and when in that condition, what gentleman is master of 
himself 1 ? Perhaps I did, in this state, use my Lady rather roughly ; 
fling a glass or two at her, and call her by a few names that were 
not complimentary. I may have threatened her life (which it was 
obviously my interest not to take), and have frightened her, in a 
word, considerably. 

After one of these disputes, in which she ran screaming through 
the galleries, and I, as tipsy as a lord, came staggering after, it 
appears Bullingdon was attracted out of his room by the noise ; as 
I came up with her, the audacious rascal tripped up my heels, which 


236 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYtfDOtf, ESQ. 

were not very steady, and catching his fainting mother in his arms, 
took her into his own room ; where he, upon her entreaty, swore he 
would never leave the house as long as she continued united with 
me. I knew nothing of the vow, or indeed of the tipsy frolic which 
was the occasion of it; I was taken up “glorious,” as the phrase 
is, by my servants, and put to bed, and, in the morning, had no 
more recollection of what had occurred any more than of what 
happened when I was a baby at the breast. Lady Lyndon told 
me of the circumstance years after ; and I mention it here, as it 
enables me to plead honourably “ not guilty ” to one of the absurd 
charges of cruelty trumped up against me with respect to my step- 
son. Let my detractors apologise, if they dare, for the conduct of 
a graceless ruffian who trips up the heels of his own natural guardian 
and stepfather after dinner. 

This circumstance served to unite mother and son for a little ; 
but their characters were too different. I believe she was too fond 
of me ever to allow him to be sincerely reconciled to her. As he 
grew up to be a man, his hatred towards me assumed an intensity 
quite wicked to think of (and which I promise you I returned with 
interest) : and it was at the age of sixteen, I think, that the 
impudent young hangdog, on my return from Parliament one 
summer, and on my proposing to cane him as usual, gave me to 
understand that he would submit to no farther chastisement from 
me, and said, grinding his teeth, that he would shoot me if I laid 
hands on him. I looked at him ; he was grown, in fact, to be a tall 
young man, and I gave up that necessary part of his education. 

It was about this time that I raised the company which was to 
serve in America ; and my enemies in the country (and since my 
victory over the Tiptoffs I scarce need say I had many of them) 
began to propagate the most shameful reports regarding my conduct 
to that precious young scapegrace my stepson, and to insinuate that 
I actually wished to get rid of him. Thus my loyalty to my 
Sovereign was actually construed into a horrid unnatural attempt 
on my part on Bullingdon’s life ; and it was said that I had raised 
the American corps for the sole purpose of getting the young 
Viscount to command it, and so of getting rid of him. I am not 
sure that they had not fixed upon the name of the very man in the 
company who was ordered to despatch him at the first general 
action, and the bribe I was to give him for this delicate piece 
of service. 

But the truth is, I was of opinion then (and though the fulfil- 
ment of my prophecy has been delayed, yet I make no doubt it will 
be brought to pass ere long), that my Lord Bullingdon needed none 
of my aid in sending him into the other world ; but had a happy 


SARCASMS OF MY LORD BULLINGDON 237 

knack of finding the way thither himself, which he would be sure 
to pursue. In truth, he began upon this way early : of all the 
violent, daring, disobedient scapegraces that ever caused an affec- 
tionate parent pain, he was certainly the most incorrigible ; there 
was no beating him, or coaxing him, or taming him. 

For instance, with my little son, when his governor brought him 
into the room as we were over the bottle after dinner, my Lord 
would begin his violent and undutiful sarcasms at me. 

“ Dear child,” he would say, beginning to caress and fondle him, 
“what a pity it is I am not dead for thy sake! The Lyndons 
would then have a worthier representative, and enjoy all the benefit 
of the illustrious blood of the Barrys of Barryogue ; would they not, 
Mr. Barry Lyndon?” He always chose the days when company, 
or the clergy or gentry of the neighbourhood, were present, to make 
these insolent speeches to me. 

Another day (it was Bryan’s birthday) we were giving a grand 
ball and gala at Hackton, and it was time for my little Bryan to 
make his appearance among us, as he usually did in the smartest 
little court-suit you ever saw (ah me ! but it brings tears into my 
old eyes now to think of the bright looks of that darling little face). 
There was a great crowding and tittering when the child came in, 
led by his half-brother, who walked into the dancing-room (would 
you believe it?) in his stocking-feet, leading little Bryan by the 
hand, paddling about in the great shoes of the elder ! “ Don’t you 

think he fits my shoes very well, Sir Richard Wargrave?” says the 
young reprobate : upon which the company began to look at each 
other and to titter ; and his mother, coming up to Lord Bullingdon 
with great dignity, seized the child to her breast, and said, “ From 
the manner in which I love this child, my Lord, you ought to know 
how I would have loved his elder brother had he proved worthy of 
any mother’s affection ! ” and, bursting into tears, Lady Lyndon left 
the apartment, and the young lord rather discomfited for once. 

At last, on one occasion, his behaviour to me was so outrageous 
(it was in the hunting-field and in a large public company), that I 
lost all patience, rode at the urchin straight, wrenched him out of 
his saddle with all my force, and, flinging him roughly to the 
ground, sprang down to it myself, and administered such a correc- 
tion across the young caitiff’s head and shoulders with my horsewhip 
as might have ended in his death, had I not been restrained in 
time ; for my passion was up, and I was in a state to do murder or 
any other crime. 

The lad was taken home and put to bed, where he lay for a day 
or two in a fever, as much from rage and vexation as from the 
chastisement I had given him ; and three days afterwards, on sending 


238 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

to inquire at his chamber whether he would join the family at table, 
a note was found on his table, and his bed was empty and cold. 
The young villain had fled, and had the audacity to write in the 
following terms regarding me to my wife, his mother : — 

“ Madam,” he said, “ I have borne as long as mortal could endure 
the ill-treatment of the insolent Irish upstart whom you have taken 
to your bed. It is not only the lowness of his birth and the general 
brutality of his manners which disgust me, and must make me hate 
him so long as I have the honour to bear the name of Lyndon, 
which he is unworthy of, but the shameful nature of his conduct 
towards your Ladyship; his brutal and ungentlemanlike behaviour, 
his open infidelity, his habits of extravagance, intoxication, his 
shameless robberies and swindling of my property and yours. It is 
these insults to you which shock and annoy me, more than the 
ruffian’s infamous conduct to myself. I would have stood by your 
Ladyship as I promised, but you seem to have taken latterly your 
husband’s part; and, as I cannot personally chastise this low-bred 
ruffian, who, to our shame be it spoken, is the husband of my 
mother ; and as I cannot bear to witness his treatment of you, and 
loathe his horrible society as if it were the plague, I am determined 
to quit my native country : at least during his detested life, or 
during my own. I possess a small income from my father, of which 
I have no doubt Mr. Barry will cheat me if he can ; but which, if 
your Ladyship has some feelings of a mother left, you will, perhaps, 
award to me. Messrs. Childs, the bankers, can have orders to pay 
it to me when due ; if they receive no such orders, I shall be not in 
the least surprised, knowing you to be in the hands of a villain who 
would not scruple to rob on the highway ; and shall try to find out 
some way in life for myself more honourable than that by which 
the penniless Irish adventurer has arrived to turn me out of my 
rights and home.” 

This mad epistle was signed “ Bullingdon,” and all the neigh- 
bours vowed that I had been privy to his flight, and would profit 
by it ; though I declare on my honour my true and sincere desire, 
after reading the above infamous letter, was to have the author 
within a good arm’s-length of me, that I might let him know my 
opinion regarding him. But there was no eradicating this idea from 
people’s minds, who insisted that I wanted to kill Bullingdon ; 
whereas murder, as I have said, was never one of my evil qualities : 
and even had I wished to injure my young enemy ever so much, 
common prudence would have made my mind easy, as I knew he 
was going to ruin his own way. 


MY RECEPTION IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 239 

It was long before we heard of the fate of the audacious young 
truant ; but after some fifteen months had elapsed, I had the pleasure 
of being able to refute some of the murderous calumnies which had 
been uttered against me, by producing a bill with Bullingdon’s own 
signature, drawn from General Tarleton’s army in America, where 
my company was conducting itself with the greatest glory, and with 
which my Lord was serving as a volunteer. There were some of my 
kind friends who persisted still in attributing all sorts of wicked 
intentions to me. Lord Tiptoff would never believe that I would 
pay any bill, much more any bill of Lord Bullingdon’s ; old Lady 
Betty Grimsby, his sister, persisted in declaring the bill was a 
forgery, and the poor dear lord dead ; until there came a letter to 
her Ladyship from Lord Bullingdon himself, who had been at New 
York at headquarters, and who described at length the splendid 
festival given by the officers of the garrison to our distinguished 
chieftains, the two Howes. 

In the meanwhile, if I had murdered my Lord, I could scarcely 
have been received with more shameful obloquy and slander than 
now followed me in town and country. “ You will hear of the lad’s 
death, be sure,” exclaimed one of my friends. “ And then his wife’s 
will follow,” added another. “ He will marry Jenny Jones,” added 
a third ; and so on. Lavender brought me the news of these 
scandals about me : the country was up against me. The farmers 
on market-days used to touch their hats sulkily, and get out of my 
way ; the gentlemen who followed my hunt now suddenly seceded 
from it, and left off my uniform ; at the county ball, where I led 
out Lady Susan Capermore, and took my place third in the dance 
after the duke and the marquis, as was my wont, all the couples 
turned away as we came to them, and we were left to dance alone. 
Sukey Capermore has a love of dancing which would make her 
dance at a funeral if anybody asked her, and I had too much spirit 
to give in at this signal instance of insult towards me ; so we danced 
with some of the very commonest low people at the bottom of the 
set — your apothecaries, wine-merchants, attorneys, and such scum 
as are allowed to attend our public assemblies. 

The bishop, my Lady Lyndon’s relative, neglected to invite us 
to the palace at the assizes; and, in a word, every indignity was 
put upon me which could by possibility be heaped upon an innocent 
and honourable gentleman. 

My reception in London, whither I now carried my wife and 
family, was scarcely more cordial. On paying my respects to my 
Sovereign at St. James’s, his Majesty pointedly asked me when 
I had news of Lord Bullingdon. On which I replied, with no 
ordinary presence of mind, “ Sir, my Lord Bullingdon is fighting 


240 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

the rebels against your Majesty’s crown in America. Does your 
Majesty desire that I should send another regiment to aid him'?” 
On which the King turned on his heel, and I made my bow out of 
the presence-chamber. When Lady Lyndon kissed the Queen’s 
hand at the drawing-room, I found that precisely the same question 
had been put to her Ladyship ; and she came home much agitated 
at the rebuke which had been administered to her. Thus it was 
that my loyalty was rewarded, and my sacrifice, in favour of my 
country, viewed ! I took away my establishment abruptly to 
Paris, where I met with a very different reception : but my stay 
amidst the enchanting pleasures of that capital was extremely short ; 
for the French Government, which had been long tampering, with 
the American rebels, now openly acknowledged the independence of 
the United States. A declaration of war ensued : all we happy 
English were ordered away from Paris ; and I think I left one or 
two fair ladies there inconsolable. It is the only place where a 
gentleman can live as he likes without being incommoded by his 
wife. The Countess and I, during our stay, scarcely saw each 
other except upon public occasions, at Versailles, or at the Queen’s 
play-table ; and our dear little Bryan advanced in a thousand ele- 
gant accomplishments which rendered him the delight of all who 
knew him. 

I must not forget to mention here my last interview with my 
good uncle, the Chevalier de Ballybarry, whom I left at Brussels 
with strong intentions of making his salut, as the phrase is, and 
who had gone into retirement at a convent there. Since then he 
had come into the world again, much to his annoyance and repent- 
ance ; having fallen desperately in love in his old age with a French 
actress, who had done as most ladies of her character do, — ruined 
him, left him, and laughed at him. His repentance was very 
edifying. Under the guidance of Messieurs of the Irish College, 
he once more turned his thoughts towards religion ; and his only 
prayer to me when I saw him and asked in what I could relieve 
him, was to pay a handsome fee to the convent into which he 
proposed to enter. 

This I could not, of course, do : my religious principles forbid- 
ding me to encourage superstition in any way ; and the old gentleman 
and I parted rather coolly, in consequence of my refusal, as he said, 
to make his old days comfortable. 

I was very poor at the time, that is the fact ; and entre nous , the 
Rosemont of the French opera, an indifferent dancer, but a charm- 
ing figure and ankle, was ruining me in diamonds, equipages, and 
furniture bills, added to which I had a run of ill-luck at play, and 
was forced to meet my losses by the most shameful sacrifices to the 


I LOSE A PEERAGE 


241 


money-lenders, by pawning part of Lady Lyndon’s diamonds (that 
graceless little Rosemont wheedled me out of some of them), and by 
a thousand other schemes for raising money. But when Honour is 
in the case, was I ever found backward at her call 1 and what man 
can say that Barry Lyndon lost a bet which he did not pay 1 

As for my ambitious hopes regarding the Irish peerage, I began, 
on my return, to find out that I had been led wildly astray by that 
rascal Lord Crabs ; who liked to take my money, but had no more 
influence to get me a coronet than to procure for me the Pope’s 
tiara. The Sovereign was not a whit more gracious to me on 
returning from the Continent than he had been before my departure ; 
and I had it from one of the aides-de-camp of the Royal Dukes his 
brothers, that my conduct and amusements at Paris had been 
odiously misrepresented by some spies there, and had formed the 
subject of Royal comment ; and that the King had, influenced by 
these calumnies, actually said I was the most disreputable man in 
the three kingdoms. I disreputable ! I a dishonour to my name 
and country ! When I heard these falsehoods, I was in such a 
rage that I went off to Lord North at once to remonstrate with the 
Minister ; to insist upon being allowed to appear before His Majesty 
and clear myself of the imputations against me, to point out my 
services to the Government in voting with them, and to ask when 
the reward that had been promised to me, viz., the title held by my 
ancestors, was again to be revived in my person. 

There was a sleepy coolness in that fat Lord North which was 
the most provoking thing that the Opposition had ever to encounter 
from him. He heard me with half-shut eyes. When I had finished 
a long violent speech — which I made striding about his room in 
Downing Street, and gesticulating with all the energy of an Irish- 
man — he opened one eye, smiled, and asked me gently if I had done. 
On my replying in the affirmative, he said, “Well, Mr. Barry, I’ll 
answer you, point by point. The King is exceedingly averse to 
make peers, as you know. Your claims, as you call them, have 
been laid before him, and His Majesty’s gracious reply was, that 
you were the most impudent man in his dominions, and merited a 
halter rather than a coronet. As for withdrawing your support 
from us, you are perfectly welcome to carry yourself and your vote 
whithersoever you please. And now, as I have a great deal of occu- 
pation, perhaps you will do me the favour to retire.” So saying, he 
raised his hand lazily to the bell, and bowed me out ; asking blandly 
if there was any other thing in the world in which he could oblige me. 

I went home in a fury which can’t be described ; and having 
Lord Crabs to dinner that day, assailed his Lordship by pulling his 
wig off his head, and smothering it in his face, and by attacking 


242 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

him in that part of the person where, according to report, he had 
been formerly assaulted by Majesty. The whole story was over 
the town the next day, and pictures of me were hanging in the clubs 
and print-shops, performing the operation alluded to. All the town 
laughed at the picture of the lord and the Irishman, and, I need not 
say, recognised both. As for me, I was one of the most celebrated char- 
acters in London in those days : my dress, style, and equipage being as 
well known as those of any leader of the fashion ; and my popularity, 
if not great in the highest quarters, was at least considerable else- 
where. The people cheered me in the Gordon rows, at the time they 
nearly killed my friend Jemmy T witcher and burned Lord Mansfield’s 
house down. Indeed, I was known as a stanch Protestant, and 
after my quarrel with Lord North veered right round to the Opposi- 
tion, and vexed him with all the means in my power. 

These were not, unluckily, very great, for I was a bad speaker, 
and the House would not listen to me, and presently, in 1780, after 
the Gordon disturbance, was dissolved, when a general election took 
place. It came on me, as all my mishaps were in the habit of 
coming, at a most unlucky time. I was obliged to raise more money, 
at most ruinous rates, to face the confounded election, and had the 
Tiptoffs against me in the field more active and virulent than ever. 

My blood boils even now when I think of the rascally conduct 
of my enemies in that scoundrelly election. I was held up as the 
Irish Bluebeard, and libels of me were printed, and gross caricatures 
drawn representing me flogging Lady Lyndon, whipping Lord Bulling- 
don, turning him out of doors in a storm, and I know not what. 
There were pictures of a pauper cabin in Ireland, from which it was 
pretended I came ; others in which I was represented as a lacquey 
and shoeblack. A flood of calumny was let loose upon me, in which 
any man of less spirit would have gone down. 

But though I met my accusers boldly, though I lavished sums 
of money in the election, though I flung open Hackton Hall, and 
kept champagne and burgundy running there, and at all my inns in 
the town, as commonly as water, the election went against me. The 
rascally gentry had all turned upon me and joined the Tiptoff faction : 
it was even represented that I held my wife by force ; and though 
I sent her into the town alone, wearing my colours, with Bryan in 
her lap, and made her visit the mayor’s lady and the chief women 
there, nothing would persuade the people but that she lived in fear 
and trembling of me ; and the brutal mob had the insolence to ask her 
why she dared to go back, and how she liked horsewhip for supper. 

I was thrown out of my election, and all the bills came down 
upon me together — all the bills I had been contracting during the 
years of my marriage, which the creditors, with a rascally unanimity, 


I RETIRE TO CASTLE LYNDON 


243 


sent in until they lay upon my table in heaps. I won’t cite their 
amount : it was frightful. My stewards and lawyers made matters 
worse. I was bound up in an inextricable toil of bills and debts, 
of mortgages and insurances, and all the horrible evils attendant 
upon them. Lawyers upon lawyers posted down from London : 
composition after composition was made, and Lady Lyndon’s income 
hampered almost irretrievably to satisfy these cormorants. To do 
her justice, she behaved with tolerable kindness at this season of 
trouble ; for whenever I wanted money I had to coax her, and 
whenever I coaxed her I was sure of bringing this weak and light- 
minded woman to good humour : who was of such a weak terrified 
nature, that to secure an easy week with me she would sign away 
a thousand a year. And when my troubles began at Hackton, and 
I determined on the only chance left, viz., to retire to Ireland and 
retrench, assigning over the best part of my income to the creditors 
until their demands were met, my Lady was quite cheerful at the 
idea of going, and said, if we would be quiet, she had no doubt all 
would be well ; indeed, was glad to undergo the comparative poverty 
in which we must now live for the sake of the retirement and the 
chance of domestic quiet which she hoped to enjoy. 

We went off to Bristol pretty suddenly, leaving the odious and 
ungrateful wretches at Hackton to vilify us, no doubt, in our 
absence. My stud and hounds were sold off immediately; the 
harpies would have been glad to pounce upon my person, but that 
was out of their power. I had raised, by cleverness and management, 
to the full as much on my mines and private estates as they were 
worth ; so the scoundrels were disappointed in this instance ; and as 
for the plate and property in the London house, they could not touch 
that, as it was the property of the heirs of the house of Lyndon. 

I passed over to Ireland, then, and took up my abode at Castle 
Lyndon for a while ; all the world imagining that I was an utterly 
ruined man, and that the famous and dashing Barry Lyndon would never 
again appear in the circles of which he had been an ornament. But 
it was not so. In the midst of my perplexities, Fortune reserved a 
great consolation for me still. Despatches came home from America 
announcing Lord Cornwallis’s defeat of General Gates in Carolina, 
and the death of Lord Bullingdon, who was present as a volunteer. 

For my own desires to possess a paltry Irish title I cared little. 
My son was now heir to an English earldom, and I made him 
assume forthwith the title of Lord Viscount Castle Lyndon, the 
third of the family titles. My mother went almost mad with joy 
at saluting her grandson as “ my Lord,” and I felt that all my 
sufferings and privations were repaid by seeing this darling child 
advanced to such a post of honour. 


CHAPTER XIX 

CONCLUSION 


I F the world were not composed of a race of ungrateful scoundrels, 
who share your prosperity while it lasts, and, even when gorged 
with your venison and burgundy, abuse the generous giver of 
the feast, I am sure I merit a good name and a high reputation : 
in Ireland, at least, where my generosity was unbounded, and the 
splendour of my mansion and entertainments unequalled by any 
other nobleman of my time. As long as my magnificence lasted, 
all the country was free to partake of it ; I had hunters sufficient 
in my stables to mount a regiment of dragoons, and butts of wine 
in my cellar which would have made whole counties drunk for 
years. Castle Lyndon became the headquarters of scores of needy 
gentlemen, and I never rode a-himting but I had a dozen young 
fellows of the best blood of the country riding as my squires and 
gentlemen of the horse. My son, little Castle Lyndon, was a 
prince; his breeding and manners, even at his early age, showed 
him to be worthy of the two noble families from whom he was 
descended : I don’t know what high hopes I had for the boy, and 
indulged in a thousand fond anticipations as to his future success 
and figure in the world. But stern Fate had determined that I 
should leave none of my race behind me, and ordained that I should 
finish my career, as I see it closing now — poor, lonely, and child- 
less. I may have had my faults ; but no man shall dare to say 
of me that I was not a good and tender father. I loved that boy 
passionately ; perhaps with a blind partiality : I denied him nothing. 
Gladly, gladly, I swear, would I have died that his premature doom 
might have been averted. I think there is not a day since I lost 
him but his bright face and beautiful smiles look down on me 
out of heaven, where he is, and that my heart does not yearn 
towards him. That sweet child was taken from me at the age of 
nine years, when he was full of beauty and promise ; and so power- 
ful is the hold his memory has of me that I have never been able 
to forget him : his little spirit haunts me of nights on my restless 
solitary pillow ; many a time, in the wildest and maddest company, 
as the bottle is going round, and the song and laugh roaring about, 


THE HACKTON TIMBER 245 

I am thinking of him. I have got a lock of his soft brown hair 
hanging round my breast now : it will accompany me . to the dis- 
honoured pauper’s grave ; where soon, no doubt, Barry Lyndon’s 
worn-out old bones will be laid. 

My Bryan was a boy of amazing high spirit (indeed how, coming 
from such a stock, could he be otherwise 1 ?), impatient even of my 
control, against which the dear little rogue would often rebel gal- 
lantly ; how much more, then, of his mother’s and the women’s, 
whose attempts to direct him he would laugh to scorn. Even my 
own mother (“ Mrs. Barry of Lyndon ” the good soul now called 
herself, in compliment to my new family) was quite unable to 
check him ; and hence you may fancy what a will he had of his 
own. If it had not been for that, he might have lived to this 
day : he might — but why repine ? Is he not in a better place ? 
would the heritage of a beggar do any service to him % It is best 
as it is — Heaven be good to us ! — Alas ! that I, his father, should 
be left to deplore him. 

It was in the month of October I had been to Dublin, in order 
to see a lawyer and a moneyed man who had come over to Ireland 
to consult with me about some sales of mine and the cut of Hackton 
timber; of w T hich as I hated the place and was greatly in want 
of money, I was determined to cut down every stick. There had 
been some difficulty in the matter. It was said I had no right to 
touch the timber. The brute peasantry abort the estate had been 
roused to such a pitch of hatred against me, that the rascals actually 
refused to lay an axe to the trees ; and my agent (that scoundrel 
Larkins) declared that his life was in danger among them if he 
attempted any further despoilment (as they called it) of the pro- 
perty. Every article of the splendid furniture was sold by this 
time, as I need not say ; and, as for the plate, I had taken good 
care to bring it off to Ireland, where it now was in the best of 
keeping — my banker’s, who had advanced six thousand pounds on 
it : which sum I soon had occasion for. 

I went to Dublin, then, to meet the English man of business ; 
and so far succeeded in persuading Mr. Splint, a great shipbuilder 
and timber-dealer of Plymouth, of my claim to the Hackton timber, 
that he agreed to purchase it off-hand at about one-third of its 
value, and handed me over five thousand pounds : which, being 
pressed with debts at the time, I was fain to accept. He had 
no difficulty in getting down the wood, I warrant. He took a 
regiment of shipwrights and sawyers from his own and the King’s 
yards at Plymouth, and in two months Hackton Park was as bare 
of trees as the Bog of Allen. 

I had but ill luck with that accursed expedition and money. 


246 THE MEMOIRS OP BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

I lost the greater part of it in two nights’ play at “ Daly’s,” so 
that my debts stood just as they were before; and before the 
vessel sailed for Holyhead, which carried away my old sharper of 
a timber-merchant, all that I had left of the money he brought 
me was a couple of hundred pounds, with which I returned home 
very disconsolately : and very suddenly, too, for my Dublin trades- 
men were hot upon me, hearing I had spent the loan, and two of 
my wine-merchants had writs out against me for some thousands 
of pounds. 

I bought in Dublin, according to my promise, however — for 
when I give a promise I will keep it at any sacrifices — a little 
horse for my dear little Bryan ; which was to be a present for his 
tenth birthday, that was now coming on : it was a beautiful little 
animal and stood me in a good sum. I never regarded money for 
that dear child. But the horse was very wild. He kicked off 
one of my horse boys, who rode him at first, and broke the lad’-s 
leg ; and, though I took the animal in hand on the journey home, 
it was only my weight and skill that made the brute quiet. 

When we got home I sent the horse away with one of my 
grooms to a farmer’s house, to break him thoroughly in, and told 
Bryan, who was all anxiety to see his little horse, that he would 
arrive by his birthday, when he should hunt him along with my 
hounds; and I promised myself no small pleasure in presenting 
the dear fellow to the field that day : which I hoped to see him 
lead some time or other in place of his fond father. Ah me ! never 
was that gallant boy to ride a fox-chase, or to take the place 
amongst the gentry of his country which his birth and genius had 
pointed out for him ! 

Though I don’t believe in dreams and omens, yet I can’t but 
own that when a great calamity is hanging over a man, he has 
frequently many strange and awful forebodings of it. I fancy now 
I had many. Lady Lyndon, especially, twice dreamed of her son’s 
death ; but, as she was now grown uncommonly nervous and 
vapourish, I treated her fears with scorn, and my own, of course, 
too. And in an unguarded moment, over the bottle after dinner, 
I told poor Bryan, who was always questioning me about the little 
horse, and when it was to come, that it was arrived ; that it was 
in Doolan’s farm, where Mick the groom was breaking him in. 
“Promise me, Bryan,” screamed his mother, “that you will not 
ride the horse except in company of your father.” But I only 
said, “ Pooh, madam, you are an ass ! ” being angry at her silly 
timidity, which was always showing itself in a thousand disagree- 
able ways now ; and, turning round to Bryan, said, “ I promise your 
Lordship a good flogging if you mount him without my leave.” 


I LOSE MY LAST HOPE IN LIFE 247 

I suppose the poor child did not care about paying this penalty 
for the pleasure he was to have, or possibly thought a fond father 
would remit the punishment altogether : for the next morning, 
when I rose rather late, having sat up drinking the night before, 
I found the child had been off at daybreak, having slipt through 
his tutor’s room (this was Redmond Quin, our cousin, whom I had 
taken to live with me), and I had no doubt but that he was gone 
to Doolan’s farm. 

I took a great horsewhip and galloped off after him in a rage, 
swearing I would keep my promise. But, Heaven forgive me ! I 
little thought of it when at three miles from home I met a sad 
procession coming towards me : peasants moaning and howling as 
our Irish do, the black horse led by the hand, and, on a door that 
some of the folk carried, my poor dear, dear little boy. There he 
lay in his little boots and spurs, and his little coat of scarlet and 
gold. His dear face was quite white, and he smiled as he held a 
hand out to me, and said painfully, “You won’t whip me, will you, 
papa V 1 I could only burst out into tears in reply. I have seen 
many and many a man dying, and there’s a look about the eyes 
which you cannot mistake. There was a little drummer-boy I was 
fond of, who was hit down before my company at Kiihnersdorf; 
when I ran up to give him some water, he looked exactly like my 
dear Bryan then did — there’s no mistaking that awful look of the 
eyes. We carried him home and scoured the country round for 
doctors to come and look at his hurt. 

But what does a doctor avail in a contest with the grim invin- 
cible enemy? Such as came could only confirm our despair by 
their account of the poor child’s case. He had mounted his horse 
gallantly, sat him bravely all the time the animal plunged and 
kicked, and, having overcome his first spite, ran him at a hedge by 
the roadside. But there were loose stones at the top, and the 
horse’s foot caught among them, and he and his brave little rider 
rolled over together at the other side. The people said they saw 
the noble little boy spring up after his fall and run to catch the 
horse ; which had broken away from him, kicking him on the back, 
as it would seem, as they lay on the ground. Poor Bryan ran a 
few yards and then dropped down as if shot. A pallor came over 
his face, and they thought he was dead. But they poured whisky 
down his mouth, and the poor child revived : still he could not 
move ; his spine was injured : the lower half of him was dead when 
they laid him in bed at home. The rest did not last long, God 
help me ! He remained yet for two days with us ; and a sad 
comfort it was to think he was in no pain. 

During this time the dear angel’s temper seemed quite to change : 


248 THE MEMOIRS OP BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

he asked his mother and me pardon for any act of disobedience he 
had been guilty of towards us ; he said often he should like to see 
his brother Bullingdon. “ Bully was better than you, papa,” he 
said ; “ he used not to swear so, and he told and taught me many 
good things while you were away.” And, taking a hand of his 
mother and mine in each of his little clammy ones, he begged us 
not to quarrel so, but love each other, so that we might meet again 
in heaven, where Bully told him quarrelsome people never went. 
His mother was very much affected by these admonitions from the 
poor suffering angel’s mouth ; and I was so too. I wish she had 
enabled me to keep the counsel which the dying boy gave us. 

At last, after two days, he died. There he lay, the hope of my 
family, the pride of my manhood, the link which had kept me and 
my Lady Lyndon together. “Oh, Redmond,” said she, kneeling 
by the sweet child’s body, “ do, do let us listen to the truth out of 
his blessed mouth ; and do you amend your life, and treat your 
poor loving fond wife as her dying child bade you.” And I said I 
would : but there are promises which it is out of a man’s power to 
keep ; especially with such a woman as her. But we drew together 
after that sad event, and were for several months better friends. 

I won’t tell you with what splendour we buried him. Of what 
avail are undertakers’ feathers and heralds’ trumpery ? I went out 
and shot the fatal black horse that had killed him, at the door of 
the vault where we laid my boy. I was so wild, that I could have 
shot myself too. But for the crime, it would have been better that 
I should, perhaps ; for what has my life been since that sweet 
flower was taken out of my bosom? A succession of miseries, 
wrongs, disasters, and mental and bodily sufferings which never fell 
to the lot of any other man in Christendom. 

Lady Lyndon, always vapourish and nervous, after our blessed 
boy’s catastrophe became more agitated than ever, and plunged into 
devotion with so much fervour, that you would have fancied her 
almost distracted at times. She imagined she saw visions. She 
said an angel from heaven had told her that Bryan’s death was as 
a punishment to her for her neglect of her first-born. Then she 
would declare Bullingdon was alive ; she had seen him in a dream. 
Then again she would fall into fits of sorrow about his death, and 
grieve for him as violently as if he had been the last of her sons 
who had died, and not our darling Bryan ; who, compared to 
Bullingdon, was what a diamond is to a vulgar stone. Her freaks 
were painful to witness, and difficult to control. It began to be 
said in the country that the Countess was going mad. My scoun- 
drelly enemies did not fail to confirm and magnify the rumour, and 


I AM BESET WITH ENEMIES 249 

would add that I was the cause of her insanity : I had driven her 
to distraction, I had killed Bullingdon, I had murdered my own son ; 
I don’t know what else they laid to my charge. Even in Ireland 
their hateful calumnies reached me : my friends fell away from me. 
They began to desert my hunt, as they did in England, and when I 
went to race or market found sudden reasons for getting out of my 
neighbourhood. I got the name of Wicked Barry, Devil Lyndon, 
which you please : the country-folk used to make marvellous legends 
about me : the priests said I had massacred I don’t know how many 
German nuns in the Seven Years’ War; that the ghost of the 
murdered Bullingdon haunted my house. Once at a fair in a town 
hard by, when I had a mind to buy a waistcoat for one of my people, 
a fellow standing by said, “ ’Tis a strait-waistcoat he’s buying for 
my Lady Lyndon.” And from this circumstance arose a legend of 
my cruelty to my wife ; and many circumstantial details were 
narrated regarding my manner and ingenuity of torturing her. 

The loss of my dear boy pressed not only on my heart as a 
father, but injured my individual interests in a very considerable 
degree ; for as there was now no direct heir to the estate, and 
Lady Lyndon was of a weak health, and supposed to be quite 
unlikely to leave a family, the next in succession — that detestable 
family of Tip toft' — began to exert themselves in a hundred ways to 
annoy me, and were at the head of the party of enemies who were 
raising reports to my discredit. They interposed between me and 
my management of the property in a hundred different ways; 
making an outcry if I cut a stick, sunk a shaft, sold a picture, or 
sent a few ounces of plate to be remodelled. They harassed me 
with ceaseless lawsuits, got injunctions from Chancery, hampered 
my agents in the execution of their work; so much so that you 
would have fancied my own was not my own, but theirs, to do as 
they liked with. What is worse, as I have reason to believe, they 
had tamperings and dealings with my own domestics under my own 
roof ; for I could not have a word with Lady Lyndon but it some- 
how got abroad, and I could not be drunk with my chaplain and 
friends but some sanctified rascals would get hold of the news, and 
reckon up all the bottles I drank and all the oaths I swore. That 
these were not few, I acknowledge. I am of the old school ; was 
always a free liver and speaker ; and, at least, if I did and said what 
I liked, was not so bad as many a canting scoundrel I know of who 
covers his foibles and sins, unsuspected, with a mask of holiness. 

As I am making a clean breast of it, and am no hypocrite, 
I may as well confess now that I endeavoured to ward off the 
devices of my enemies by an artifice which was not, perhaps, strictly 
justifiable. Everything depended on my having an heir to the 


250 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

estate ; for if Lady Lyndon, who was of weakly health, had died, 
the next day I was a beggar : all my sacrifices of money, &c., on 
the estate would not have been held in a farthing’s account ; all 
the debts would have been left on my shoulders ; and my enemies 
would have triumphed over me : which, to a man of my honourable 
spirit, was “ the unkindest cut of all,” as some poet says. 

I confess, then, it was my wish to supplant these scoundrels ; 
and, as I could not do so without an heir to my property, I deter- 
mined to find one. If I had him near at hand, and of my own 
blood too, though with the bar sinister, is not here the question. 
It was then I found out the rascally machinations of my enemies ; 
for, having broached this plan to Lady Lyndon, whom I made to 
be, outwardly at least, the most obedient of wives, — although I 
never let a letter from her or to her go or arrive without my in- 
spection, — although I allowed her to see none but those persons 
who I thought, in her delicate health, would be fitting society for 
her; yet the infernal Tiptoffs got wind of my scheme, protested 
instantly against it, not only by letter, but in the shameful libellous 
public prints, and held me up to public odium as a “child-forger,” 
as they called me. Of course I denied the charge — I could do no 
otherwise, and offered to meet any one of the Tiptoffs on the field 
of honour, and prove him a scoundrel and a liar, as he was; though, 
perhaps, not in this instance. But they contented themselves by 
answering me by a lawyer, and declined an invitation which any 
man of spirit would have accepted. My hopes of having an heir 
were thus blighted completely : indeed, Lady Lyndon (though, as 
I have said, I take her opposition for nothing) had resisted the 
proposal with as much energy as a woman of her weakness could 
manifest ; and said she had committed one great crime in conse- 
quence of me, but would rather die than perform another. I could 
easily have brought her Ladyship to her senses, however : but my 
scheme had taken wind, and it was now in vain to attempt it. 
We might have had a dozen children in honest wedlock, and people 
would have said they were false. 

As for raising money on annuities, I may say I had used her 
life interest up. There were but few of those assurance societies in 
my time which have since sprung up in the city of London ; under- 
writers did the business, and my wife’s life was as well known among 
them as, I do believe, that of any woman in Christendom. Latterly, 
when I wanted to get a sum against her life, the rascals had the 
impudence to say my treatment of her did not render it worth a 
year’s purchase, — as if my interest lay in killing her ! Had my boy 
lived, it would have been a different thing ; he and his mother might 
hav§ cut off the entail of a good part of the property between them, 


I FEEL THE NET DRAWING CLOSER 251 


and my affairs have been put in better order. Now they were in a 
bad condition indeed. All my schemes had turned out failures ; my 
lands, which I had purchased with borrowed money, made me no 
return, and I was obliged to pay ruinous interest for the sums with 
which I had purchased them. My income, though very large, was 
saddled with hundreds of annuities, and thousands of lawyers’ charges; 
and I felt the net drawing closer and closer round me, and no means 
to extricate myself from its toils. 

To add to all my perplexities, two years after my poor child’s 
death, my wife, whose vagaries of temper and wayward follies I had 
borne with for twelve years, wanted to leave me, and absolutely 
made attempts at what she called escaping from my tyranny. 

My mother, who was the only person that, in my misfortunes, 
remained faithful to me (indeed, she has always spoken of me in my 
true light, as a martyr to the rascality of others and a victim of my 
own generous and confiding temper), found out the first scheme that 
was going on ; and of which those artful and malicious Tiptoffs were, 
as usual, the main promoters. Mrs. Barry, indeed, though her temper 
was violent and her ways singular, was an invaluable person to me 
in my house ; which would have been at rack and ruin long before, 
but for her spirit of order and management, and for her excellent 
economy in the government of my numerous family. As for my 
Lady Lyndon, she, poor soul ! was much too fine a lady to attend 
to household matters — passed her days with her doctor, or her books 
of piety, and never appeared among us except at my compulsion ; 
when she and my mother would be sure to have a quarrel. 

Mrs. Barry, on the contrary, had a talent for management in all 
matters. She kept the maids stirring, and the footmen to their 
duty ; had an eye over the claret in the cellar, and the oats and 
hay in the stable ; saw to the salting and pickling, the potatoes and 
the turf-stacking, the pig-killing and the poultry, the linen-room and 
the bakehouse, and the ten thousand minutiae of a great establish- 
ment. If all Irish housewives were like her, I warrant many a hall- 
fire would be blazing where the cobwebs only grow now, and many 
a park covered with sheep and fat cattle where the thistles are at 
present the chief occupiers. If anything could have saved me from 
the consequences of villainy in others, and (I confess it, for I am not 
above owning to my faults) my own too easy, generous, and careless 
nature, it would have been the admirable prudence of that worthy 
creature. She never went to bed until all the house was quiet and 
all the candles out ; and you may fancy that this was a matter of 
some difficulty with a man of my habits, who had commonly a dozen 
of jovial fellows (artful scoundrels and false friends most of them 
were !) to drink with me every night, and who seldom, for my part, 


252 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

went to bed sober. Many and many a night, when I was unconscious 
of her attention, has that good soul pulled my boots off, and seen 
me laid by my servants snug in bed, and carried off the candle her- 
self ; and been the first in the morning, too, to bring me my drink of 
small-beer. Mine were no milksop times, I can tell you. A gentle- 
man thought no shame of taking his half-dozen bottles ; and, as for 
your coffee and slops, they were left to Lady Lyndon, her doctor, 
and the other old women. It was my mother’s pride that I could 
drink more than any man in the country, — as much, within a pint, 
as my father before me, she said. 

That Lady Lyndon should detest her was quite natural. She is 
not the first of woman or mankind either that has hated a mother- 
in-law. I set my mother to keep a sharp watch over the freaks of 
her Ladyship ; and this, you may be sure, was one of the reasons 
why the latter disliked her. I never minded that, however. Mrs. 
Barry’s assistance and surveillance were invaluable to me ; and, if I 
had paid twenty spies to watch my Lady, I should not have been 
half so well served as by the disinterested care and watchfulness 
of my excellent mother. She slept with the house-keys under her 
pillow, and had an eye everywhere. She followed all the Countess’s 
movements like a shadow ; she managed to know, from morning to 
night, everything that my Lady did. If she walked in the garden, 
a watchful eye was kept on the wicket ; and if she chose to drive 
out, Mrs. Barry accompanied her, and a couple of fellows in my 
liveries rode alongside of the carriage to see that she came to no 
harm. Though she objected, and would have kept her room in 
sullen silence, I made a point that we should appear together at 
church in the coach-and-six every Sunday; and that she should 
attend the race-balls in my company, whenever the coa-st was clear 
of the rascally bailiffs who beset me. This gave the lie to any of 
those maligners who said I wished to make a prisoner of my wife. 
The fact is, that, knowing her levity, and seeing the insane dislike 
to me and mine which had now begun to supersede what, perhaps, 
had been an equally insane fondness for me, I was bound to be on 
my guard that she should not give me the slip. Had she left me, 
I was ruined the next day. This (which my mother knew) com- 
pelled us to keep a tight watch over her ; but as for imprisoning 
her, I repel the imputation with scorn. Every man imprisons his 
wife to a certain degree ; the world would be in a pretty condition 
if women were allowed to quit home and return to it whenever they 
had a mind. In watching over my wife, Lady Lyndon, I did no 
more than exercise the legitimate authority which awards honour 
and obedience to every husband. 

Such, however, is female artifice, that, in spite of all my watch- 


LADY LYNDON PLOTS AGAINST ME 253 

fulness in guarding her, it is probable my Lady would have given 
me the slip, had I not had quite as acute a person as herself as my 
ally : for, as the proverb says that “ the best way to catch one thief 
is to set another after him,” so the best way to get the better of a 
woman is to engage one of her own artful sex to guard her. One 
would have thought that, followed as she was, all her letters read, 
and all her acquaintances strictly watched by me, living in a remote 
part of Ireland away from her family, Lady Lyndon could have had 
no chance of communicating with her allies, or of making her wrongs, 
as she was pleased to call them, public ; and yet, for a while, she 
carried on a correspondence under my very nose, and acutely 
organised a conspiracy for flying from me : as shall be told. 

She always had an inordinate passion for dress, and, as she was 
never thwarted in any whimsey she had of this kind (for I spared 
no money to gratify her, and among my debts are milliners’ bills to 
the amount of many thousands), boxes used to pass continually to 
and fro from Dublin, with all sorts of dresses, caps, flounces, and 
furbelows, as her fancy dictated. With these would come letters 
from her milliner, in answer to numerous similar injunctions from 
my Lady ; all of which passed through my hands, without the least 
suspicion, for some time. And yet in these very papers, by the 
easy means of sympathetic ink, were contained all her Ladyship’s 
correspondence ; and Heaven knows (for it was some time, as I have 
said, before I discovered the trick) what charges against me. 

But clever Mrs. Barry found out that always before my lady- 
wife chose to write letters to her milliner, she had need of lemons 
to make her drink, as she said ; this fact, being mentioned to me, 
set me a-thinking, and so I tried one of the letters before the fire, 
and the whole scheme of villainy was brought to light. I will 
give a specimen of one of the horrid artful letters of this unhappy 
woman. In a great hand, with wide lines, were written a set of 
directions to her mantua-maker, setting forth the articles of dress 
for which my Lady had need, the peculiarity of their make, the 
stuffs she selected, &c. She would make out long lists in this way, 
writing each article in a separate line, so as to have more space for 
detailing all my cruelties and her tremendous wrongs. Between 
these lines she kept the journal of her captivity : it would have 
made the fortune of a romance-writer in those days but to have got 
a copy of it, and to have published it under the title of “ The Lovely 
Prisoner, or the Savage Husband,” or by some name equally taking 
and absurd. The journal would be as follows : — 

“ Monday . — Yesterday I was made to go to church. My 
odious, monstrous , vulgar she-dragon of a mother-in-law , in a 


254 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

yellow satin and red ribands, taking the first place in the coach ; 
Mr. L. riding by its side, on the horse he never paid for to Captain 
Hurdlestone. The wicked hypocrite led me to the pew, with hat 
in hand and a smiling countenance, and kissed my hand as I entered 
the coach after service, and patted my Italian greyhound — all that 
the few people collected might see. He made me come downstairs 
in the evening to make tea for his company ; of whom three-fourths, 
he himself included, were, as usual, drunk. They painted the 
parson’s face black, when his reverence had arrived at his seventh 
bottle ; and at his usual insensible stage, they tied him on the grey 
mare with his face to the tail. The she-dragon read the ‘ Whole 
Duty of Man ’ all the evening till bedtime ; when she saw me to 
my apartments, locked me in, and proceeded to wait upon her 
abominable son : whom she adores for his wickedness, I should 
think, as Stycorax did Caliban .” 

You should have seen my mother’s fury as I read her out this 
passage ! Indeed, I have always had a taste for a joke (that 
practised on the parson, as described above, is, I confess, a true 
bill), and used carefully to select for Mrs. Barry’s hearing all the 
compliments that Lady Lyndon passed upon her. The dragon was 
the name by which she was known in this precious correspondence : 
or sometimes she was designated by the title of the ‘‘Irish Witch.” 
As for me, I was denominated “my gaoler,” “my tyrant,” “the 
dark spirit which has obtained the mastery over my being,” and so 
on; in terms always complimentary to my power, however little 
they might be so to my amiability. Here is another extract from 
her “Prison Diary,” by which it will be seen that my Lady, 
although she pretended to be so indifferent to my goings on, had a 
sharp woman’s eye, and could be as jealous as another : — - 


“ Wednesday . — This day two years my last hope and pleasure 
in life was taken from me, and my dear child was called to heaven. 
Has he joined his neglected brother there, whom I suffered to grow 
up unheeded by my side; and whom the tyranny of the monster 
to whom I am united drove to exile, and perhaps to death? Or 
is the child alive, as my fond heart sometimes deems? Charles 
Bullingdon ! come to the aid of a wretched mother, who acknow- 
ledges her crimes, her coldness towards thee, and now bitterly pays 
for her error ! But no, he cannot live ! I am distracted ! My 
only hope is in you, my cousin — you whom I had once thought to 
salute by a still fonder title , my dear George Poynings ! Oh, be 
my knight and my preserver, the true chivalric being thou ever 


LADY LYNDON’S SECRET JOURNAL 255 


wert, and rescue me from the thrall of the felon caitiff who holds 
me captive — rescue me from him, and from Stycorax, the vile Irish 
witch, his mother ! ” 

(Here follow some verses, such as her Ladyship was in the 
habit of composing by reams, in which she compares herself to 
Sabra, in the “ Seven Champions,” and beseeches her George to 
rescue her from the dragon , meaning Mrs. Barry. I omit the lines, 
and proceed) : — 

“Even my poor child, who perished untimely on this sad 
anniversary, the tyrant who governs me had taught to despise and 
dislike me. ’Twas in disobedience to my orders, my prayers, that 
he went on the fatal journey. What sufferings, what humiliations 
have I had to endure since then ! I am a prisoner in my own 
halls. I should fear poison, but that I know the wretch has a 
sordid interest in keeping me alive, and that my death would be 
the signal for his ruin. But I dare not stir without my odious, 
hideous, vulgar gaoler, the horrid Irishwoman, who pursues my 
every step. I am locked into my chamber at night, like a felon, 
and only suffered to leave it when ordered into the presence of my 
lord (/ ordered !), to be present at his orgies with his boon com- 
panions, and to hear his odious converse as he lapses into the 
disgusting madness of intoxication ! He has given up even the 
semblance of constancy — he, who swore that I alone could attach 
or charm him ! And now he brings his vulgar mistresses before my 
very eyes, and would have had me acknowledge, as heir to my own 
property, his child by another ! 

“ No, I never will submit ! Thou, and thou only, my George, 
my early friend, shalt be heir to the estates of Lyndon. Why did 
not Fate join me to thee, instead of to the odious man who holds 
me under his sway, and make the poor Calista happy ! ” 


So the letters would run on for sheets upon sheets, in the 
closest cramped handwriting ; and I leave any unprejudiced reader 
to say whether the writer of such documents must not have been 
as silly and vain a creature as ever lived, and whether she did not 
want being taken care of? I could copy out yards of rhapsody to 
Lord George Poynings, her old flame, in which she addressed him 
by the most affectionate names, and implored him to find a refuge 
for her against her oppressors ; but they would fatigue the reader 
to peruse, as they would me to copy. The fact is, that this 
unlucky lady had the knack of writing a great deal more than she 
meant. She was always reading novels and trash ; putting herself 


256 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

into imaginary characters, and flying off into heroics and sentimen- 
talities with as little heart as any woman I ever knew ; yet showing 
the most violent disposition to be in love. She wrote always as 
if she was in a flame of passion. I have an elegy on her lapdog, 
the most tender and pathetic piece she erer wrote ; and most 
tender notes of remonstrance to Betty, her favourite maid ; to her 
housekeeper, on quarrelling with her ; to half-a-dozen acquaintances, 
each of whom she addressed as the dearest friend in the world, and 
forgot the very moment she took up another fancy. As for her 
love for her children, the above passage will show how much she 
was capable of true maternal feeling : the very sentence in which 
she records the death of one child serves to betray her egotisms, 
and to wreak her spleen against myself; and she only wishes to 
recall another from the grave, in order that he may be of some 
personal advantage to her. If I did deal severely with this woman, 
keeping her from her flatterers who would have bred discord 
between us, and locking her up out of mischief, who shall say that 
I was wrong? If any woman deserved a strait- waistcoat, it was 
my Lady Lyndon ; and I have known people in my time manacled, 
and with their heads shaved, in the straw, who had not committed 
half the follies of that foolish, vain, infatuated creature. 

My mother was so enraged by the charges against me and 
herself which these letters contained, that it was with the utmost 
difficulty I could keep her from discovering our knowledge of them 
to Lady Lyndon; whom it was, of course, my object to keep in 
ignorance of our knowledge of her designs : for I was anxious to 
know how far they went, and to what pitch of artifice she would 
go. The letters increased in interest (as they say of the novels) 
as they proceeded. Pictures were drawn of my treatment of her 
which would make your heart throb. I don’t know of what 
monstrosities she did not accuse me, and what miseries and starva- 
tion she did not profess herself to undergo ; all the while she was 
living exceedingly fat and contented, to outward appearances, at 
our house at Castle Lyndon. Novel-reading and vanity had turned 
her brain. I could not say a rough word to her (and she merited 
many thousands a day, I can tell you), but she declared I was 
putting her to the torture ; and my mother could not remonstrate 
with her but she went off into a fit of hysterics, of which she would 
declare the worthy old lady was the cause. 

At last she began to threaten to kill herself; and though I by 
no means kept the cutlery out of the way, did not stint her in 
garters, and left her doctor’s shop at her entire service, — knowing 
her character full well, and that there was no woman in Christendom 
less likely to lay hands on her precious life than herself; yet these 


I AM THREATENED WITH A DIVORCE 257 

threats had an effect, evidently, in the quarter to which they were 
addressed; for the milliner’s packets now began to arrive with 
great frequency, and the bills sent to her contained assurances of 
coming aid. The chivalrous Lord George Poynings was coming to 
his cousin’s rescue, and did me the compliment to say that he 
hoped to free his dear cousin from the clutches of the most atrocious 
villain that ever disgraced humanity ; and that, when she was free, 
measures should be taken for a divorce, on the ground of cruelty 
and every species of ill-usage on my part. 

I had copies of all these precious documents on one side and the 
other carefully made, by my before-mentioned relative, godson, and 
secretary, Mr. Redmond Quin, at present the worthy agent of the 
Castle Lyndon property. This was a son of my old flame Nora, 
whom I had taken from her in a fit of generosity ; promising to care 
for his education at Trinity College, and provide for him through 
life. But after the lad had been for a year at the University, the 
tutors would not admit him to commons or lectures until his college 
bills were paid ; and, offended by this insolent manner of demanding 
the paltry sum due, I withdrew my patronage from the place, and 
ordered my gentleman to Castle Lyndon ; where I made him useful 
to me in a hundred ways. In my dear little boy’s lifetime, he 
tutored the poor child as far as his high spirit would let him ; but 
I promise you it was small trouble poor dear Bryan ever gave the 
books. Then he kept Mrs. Barry’s accounts ; copied my own inter- 
minable correspondence with my lawyers and the agents of all my 
various property ; took a hand at piquet or backgammon of evenings 
with me and my mother ; or, being an ingenious lad enough (though 
of a mean boorish spirit, as became the son of such a father), accom- 
panied my Lady Lyndon’s spinet with his flageolet ; or read French 
and Italian with her : in both of which languages her Ladyship was 
a fine scholar, and with which he also became conversant. It would 
make my watchful old mother very angry to hear them conversing 
in these languages ; for not understanding a word of either of them, 
Mrs. Barry was furious when they were spoken, and always said it 
was some scheming they were after. It was Lady Lyndon’s con- 
stant way of annoying the old lady, when the three were alone 
together, to address Quin in one or other of these tongues. 

I was perfectly at ease with regard to his fidelity, for I had 
bred the lad, and loaded him with benefits ; and, besides, had had 
various proofs of his trustworthiness. He it was who brought me 
three of Lord George’s letters, in reply to some of my Lady’s com- 
plaints ; which were concealed between the leather and the boards 
of a book which was sent from the circulating library for her Lady- 
ship’s perusal. He and my Lady too had frequent quarrels. She 
4 R 


258 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

mimicked his gait in her pleasanter moments ; in her haughty moods, 
she would not sit down to table with a tailor’s grandson. “ Send 
me anything for company but that odious Quin,” she would say, 
when I proposed that he should go and amuse her with his books 
and his flute ; for, quarrelsome as we were, it must not be supposed 
we were always at it : I was occasionally attentive to her. We 
would be friends for a month together, sometimes ; then we would 
quarrel for a fortnight ; then she would keep her apartments for a 
month : all of which domestic circumstances were noted down, in 
her Ladyship’s peculiar way, in her journal of captivity, as she 
called it ; and a pretty document it is ! Sometimes she writes, 
“ My monster has been almost kind to-day,” or, “ My ruffian has 
deigned to smile.” Then she will break out into expressions of 
savage hate ; but for my poor mother it was always hatred. It 
was, “ The she-dragon is sick to-day ; I wish to Heaven she would 
die ! ” or, “ The hideous old Irish basketwoman has been treating 
me to some of her Billingsgate to-day,” and so forth : all which 
expressions, read to Mrs. Barry, or translated from the French and 
Italian, in which many of them were written, did not fail to keep 
the old lady in a perpetual fury against her charge : and so I had 
my watch-dog, as I called her, always on the alert. In translating 
these languages, young Quin was of great service to me ; for I had 
a smattering of French — and High Dutch, when I was in the army, 
of course I knew well — but Italian I knew nothing of, and was glad 
of the services of so faithful and cheap an interpreter. 

This cheap and faithful interpreter, this godson and kinsman, on 
whom and whose family I had piled up benefits, was actually trying 
to betray me ; and for several months, at least, was in league with 
the enemy against me. I believe that the reason why they did not 
move earlier was the want of the great mover of all treasons — 
money : of which, in all parts of my establishment, there was a 
woeful scarcity ; but of this they also managed to get a supply 
through my rascal of a godson, who could come and go quite un- 
suspected : the whole scheme was arranged under our very noses, 
and the post-chaise ordered, and the means of escape actually got 
ready ; while I never suspected their design. 

A mere accident made me acquainted with their plan. One of 
my colliers had a pretty daughter; and this pretty lass had for 
her bachelor, as they call them in Ireland, a certain lad, who 
brought the letter-bag for Castle Lyndon (and many a dunning 
letter for me was there in it, Cod wot !) : this letter-boy told his 
sweetheart how he brought a bag of money from the town for 
Master Quin ; and how that Tim the post-boy had told him that 
he was to bring a chaise down to the water at a certain hour. 


MY NEPHEW PLOTS AGAINST ME 2 5Q 

Miss Rooney, who had no secrets from me, blurted out the whole 
story ; asked me what scheming I was after, and what poor un- 
lucky girl I was going to carry away with the chaise I had ordered, 
and bribe with the money I had got from town ? 

Then the whole secret flashed upon me, that the man I had 
cherished in my bosom was going to betray me. I thought at 
one time of catching the couple in the act of escape, half drowning 
them in the ferry which they had to cross to get to their chaise, 
and of pistolling the young traitor before Lady Lyndon’s eyes ; 
but, on second thoughts, it was quite clear that the news of the 
escape would make a noise through the country, and rouse the 
confounded justice’s people about my ears, and bring me no good 
in the end. So I was obliged to smother my just indignation, and 
to content myself by crushing the foul conspiracy, just at the 
moment it was about to be hatched. 

I went home, and in half-an-hour, and with a few of my terrible 
looks, I had Lady Lyndon on her knees, begging me to forgive 
her; confessing all and everything; ready to vow and swear she 
would never make such an attempt again ; and declaring that she 
was fifty times on the point of owning everything to me, but that 
she feared my wrath against the poor young lad her accomplice : 
who was indeed the author and inventor of all the mischief. This 
— though I knew how entirely false the statement was — I was 
fain to pretend to believe ; so I begged her to write to her cousin, 
Lord George, who had supplied her with money, as she admitted, 
and with whom the plan had been arranged, stating, briefly, that 
she had altered her mind as to the trip to the country proposed ; 
and that, as her dear husband was rather in delicate health, she 
preferred to stay at home and nurse him. I added a dry postscript, 
in which I stated that it would give me great pleasure if his Lord- 
ship would come and visit us at Castle Lyndon ; and that I longed 
to renew an acquaintance which in former times gave me so much 
satisfaction. “I should seek him out,” I added, “so soon as ever 
I was in his neighbourhood, and eagerly anticipated the pleasure 
of a meeting with him.” I think he must have understood my 
meaning perfectly well ; which was, that I would run him through 
the body on the very first occasion I could come at him. 

Then I had a scene with my perfidious rascal of a nephew ; 
in which the young reprobate showed an audacity and a spirit 
for which I was quite unprepared. When I taxed him with in- 
gratitude, “What do I owe you?” said he. “I have toiled for 
you as no man ever did for another, and worked without a penny 
of wages. It was you yourself who set me against you, by giving 
me a task against which my soul revolted,— by making me a spy 


£60 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

over your unfortunate wife, whose weakness is as pitiable as are 
her misfortunes and your rascally treatment of her. Flesh and 
blood could not bear to see the manner in which you used her. 
I tried to help her to escape from you ; and I would do it again, 
if the opportunity offered, and so I tell you to your teeth ! ” When 
I offered to blow his brains out for his insolence, “ Pooh ! ” said 
he, — “kill the man who saved your poor boy’s life once, and who 
was endeavouring to keep him out of the ruin and perdition into 
which a wicked father was leading him, when a Merciful Power 
interposed, and withdrew him from this house of crime 1 I would 
have left you months ago, but I hoped for some chance of rescuing 
this unhappy lady. I swore I would try, the day I saw you strike 
her. Kill me, you woman’s bully ! You would if you dared ; but 
you have not the heart. Your very servants like me better than 
you. Touch me, and they will rise and send you to the gallows 
you merit ! ” 

I interrupted this neat speech by sending a water-bottle at the 
young gentleman’s head, which felled him to the ground ; and then 
I went to meditate upon what he had said to me. It was true the 
fellow had saved poor little Bryan’s life, and the boy to his dying 
day was tenderly attached to him. “ Be good to Redmond, papa,” 
were almost the last words he spoke; and I promised the poor 
child, on his deathbed, that I would do as he asked. It was also 
true, that rough usage of him would be little liked by my people, 
with whom he had managed to become a great favourite : for, some- 
how, though I got drunk with the rascals often, and was much more 
familiar with them than a man of my rank commonly is, yet I knew 
I was by no means liked by them ; and the scoundrels were mur- 
muring against me perpetually. 

But I might have spared myself the trouble of debating what 
his fate should be, for the young gentleman took the disposal of it 
out of my hands in the simplest way in the world : viz., by washing 
and binding up his head so soon as he came to himself : by taking 
his horse from the stables ; and, as he was quite free to go in and 
out of the house and park as he liked, he disappeared without the 
least let or hindrance ; and leaving the horse behind him at the 
ferry, went off in the very post-chaise which was waiting for Lady 
Lyndon. I saw and heard no more of him for a considerable time ; 
and now that he was out of the house, did not consider him a very 
troublesome enemy. 

But the cunning artifice of woman is such that, I think, in the 
long run, no man, were he Machiavel himself, could escape from it ; 
and though I had ample proofs in the above transaction (in which 


LADY LYNDON’S DISSIMULATION 


261 


my wife’s perfidious designs were frustrated by my foresight), and 
under her own handwriting, of the deceitfulness of her character 
and her hatred for me, yet she actually managed to deceive me, in 
spite of all my precautions and the vigilance of my mother in my 
behalf. Had I followed that good lady’s advice, who scented the 
danger from afar off, as it were, I should never have fallen into the 
snare prepared for me ; and which was laid in a way that was as 
successful as it was simple. 

My Lady Lyndon’s relation with me was a singular one. Her 
life was passed in a crack-brained sort of alternation between love 
and hatred for me. If I was in a good humour with her (as occurred 
sometimes) there was nothing she would not do to propitiate me 
further ; and she would be as absurd and violent in her expressions 
of fondness as, at other moments, she would be in her demonstrations 
of hatred. It is not your feeble easy husbands who are loved best 
in the world; according to my experience of it. I do think the 
women like a little violence of temper, and think no worse of a 
husband who exercises his authority pretty smartly. I had got my 
Lady into such a terror about me, that when I smiled it was quite 
an era of happiness to her ; and if I beckoned to her, she would 
come fawning up to me like a dog. I recollect how, for the few 
days I was at school, the cowardly mean-spirited fellows would laugh 
if ever our schoolmaster made a joke. It was the same in the 
regiment whenever the bully of a sergeant was disposed to be jocular 
— not a recruit but was on the broad grin. Well, a wise and 
determined husband will get his wife into this condition of discipline ; 
and I brought my high-born wife to kiss my hand, to pull off my 
boots, to fetch and carry for me like a servant, and always to make 
it a holiday, too, when I was in good humour. I confided perhaps 
too much in the duration of this disciplined obedience, and forgot 
that the very hypocrisy which forms a part of it (all timid people 
are liars in their hearts) may be exerted in a way that may be far 
from agreeable, in order to deceive you. 

After the ill-success of her last adventure, which gave me endless 
opportunities to banter her, one would have thought I might have 
been on my guard as to what her real intentions were ; but she 
managed to mislead me with an art of dissimulation quite admirable, 
and lulled me into a fatal security with regard to her intentions : 
for, one day, as I was joking her, and asking her whether she would 
take the water again, whether she had found another lover, and so 
forth, she suddenly burst into tears, and, seizing hold of my hand, 
cried passionately out — 

“ Ah, Barry, you know well enough that I have never loved 
but you ! Was I ever so wretched that a kind word from you 


262 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

did not make me happy? ever so angry, but the least offer of 
goodwill on your part did not bring me to your side? Did I 
not give a sufficient proof of my affection for you, in bestowing 
one of the first fortunes in England upon you? Have I repined 
or rebuked you for the way you have wasted it? No, I loved 
you too much and too fondly : I have always loved you. From 
the first moment I saw you, I felt irresistibly attracted towards 
you. I saw your bad qualities, and trembled at your violence; 
but I could not help loving you. I married you, though I knew 
I was sealing my own fate in doing so; and in spite of reason 
and duty. What sacrifice do you want from me? I am ready 
to make any, so you will but love me ; or, if not, that at least 
you will gently use me.” 

I was in a particularly good humour that day, and we had a 
sort of reconciliation : though my mother, when she heard the 
speech, and saw me softening towards her Ladyship, warned me 
solemnly, and said, “Depend on it, the artful hussy has some 
other scheme in her head now.” The old lady was right ; and I 
swallowed the bait which her Ladyship had prepared to entrap 
me as simply as any gudgeon takes a hook. 

I had been trying to negotiate with a man for some money, 
for which I had pressing occasion ; but since our dispute regarding 
the affair of the succession, my Lady had resolutely refused to 
sign any papers for my advantage : and without her name, I am 
sorry to say, my own was of little value in the market, and I 
could not get a guinea from any money-dealer in London or Dublin. 
Nor could I get the rascals from the latter place to visit me at 
Castle Lyndon : owing to that unlucky affair I had with Lawyer 
Sharp when I made him lend me the money he brought down, 
and old Salmon the Jew being robbed of the bond I gave him 
after leaving my house,* the people would not trust themselves 
within my walls any more. Our rents, too, were in the hands 
of receivers by this time, and it was as much as I could do to 
get enough money from the rascals to pay my wine-merchants 
their bills. Our English property, as I have said, was equally 
hampered; and, as often as I applied to my lawyers and agents 
for money, would come a reply demanding money of me, for debts 
and pretended claims which the rapacious rascals said they had 
on me. 

It was, then, with some feelings of pleasure that I got a 
letter from my confidential man in Gray’s Inn, London, saying 
(in reply to some ninety-ninth demand of mine) that he thought 

* These exploits of Mr. Lyndon are not related in the narrative. He 
probably, in the cases above alluded to, took the law into his own hands. 


I NEGOTIATE ANOTHER LOAN 263 

he could get me some money ; and enclosing a letter from a 
respectable firm in the city of London, connected with the mining 
interest, which offered to redeem the encumbrance in taking a 
long lease of certain property of ours, which was still pretty free, 
upon the Countess’s signature ; and provided they could be assured 
of her free will in giving it. They said* they heard she lived in 
terror of her life from me, and meditated a separation, in which 
case she might repudiate any deeds signed by her while in durance, 
and subject them, at any rate, to a doubtful and expensive litiga- 
tion ; and demanded to be made assured of her Ladyship’s perfect 
free will in the transaction before they advanced a shilling of their 
capital 

Their terms were so exorbitant, that I saw at once their offer 
must be sincere ; and, as my Lady was in her gracious mood, had 
no difficulty in persuading her to write a letter, in her own hand, 
declaring that the accounts of our misunderstandings were utter 
calumnies; that we lived in perfect union, and that she was quite 
ready to execute any deed which her husband might desire her 
to sign. 

This proposal was a very timely one, and filled me with great 
hopes. I have not pestered my readers with many accounts of 
my debts and law affairs; which were by this time so vast and 
complicated that I never thoroughly knew them myself, and was 
rendered half wild by their urgency. Suffice it to say, my money 
was gone — my credit was done. I was living at Castle Lyndon 
off my own beef and mutton, and the bread, turf, and potatoes off 
my own estate : I had to watch Lady Lyndon within, and the 
bailiffs without. For the last two years, since I went to Dublin 
to receive money (which I unluckily lost at play there, to the 
disappointment of my creditors), I did not venture to show in 
that city : and could only appear at our own county town at rare 
intervals, and because I knew the sheriffs : whom I swore I would 
murder if any ill chance happened to me. A chance of a good 
loan, then, was the most welcome prospect possible to me, and I 
hailed it with all the eagerness imaginable. 

In reply to Lady Lyndon’s letter, came, in course of time, an 
answer from the confounded London merchants, stating that if her 
Ladyship would confirm by word of mouth, at their coimting-house 
in Birchin Lane, London, the statement of her letter, they, having 
surveyed her property, would no doubt come to terms ; but they 
declined incurring the risk of a visit to Castle Lyndon to negotiate, 
as they were aware how other respectable parties, such as Messrs. 
Sharp and Salmon of Dublin, had been treated there. This was a 
hit at me; but there are certain situations in which people can’t 


264 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

dictate their own terms : and, ’faith, I was so pressed now for money, 
that I could have signed a bond with Old Nick himself, if he had 
come provided with a good round sum. 

I resolved to go and take the Countess to London. It was in 
vain that my mother prayed and warned me. “ Depend on it,” says 
she, “ there is some artifice. When once you get into that wicked 
town, you are not safe. Here you may live for years and years, in 
luxury and splendour, barring claret and all the windows broken ; 
but as soon as they have you in London, they’ll get the better of 
my poor innocent lad ; and the first thing I shall hear of you will 
be, that you are in trouble.” 

“ Why go, Redmond 1 ” said my wife. “I am happy here, as 
long as you are kind to me, as you are now. We can’t appear in 
London as we ought ; the little money you will get will be spent, 
like all the rest has been. Let us turn shepherd and shepherdess, 
and look to our flocks and be content.” And she took my hand 
and kissed it ; while my mother only said, “ Humph ! I believe 
she’s at the bottom of it — the wicked schamer ! ” 

I told my wife she was a fool ; bade Mrs. Barry not be uneasy, 
and was hot upon going : I would take no denial from either party. 
How I was to get the money to go was the question : but that was 
solved by my good mother, who was always ready to help me on a 
pinch, and who produced sixty guineas from a stocking. This was 
all the ready money that Barry Lyndon, of Castle Lyndon, and 
married to a fortune of forty thousand a year, could command : such 
had been the havoc made in this fine fortune by my own extrava- 
gance (as I must confess), but chiefly by my misplaced confidence 
and the rascality of others. 

We did not start in state, you may be sure. We did not let 
the country know we were going, or leave notice of adieu with our 
neighbours. The famous Mr. Barry Lyndon and his noble wife 
travelled in a hack-chaise and pair to Waterford, under the name of 
Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and thence took shipping for Bristol, where we 
arrived quite without accident. When a man is going to the deuce, 
how easy and pleasant the journey is ! The thought of the money 
quite put me in a good humour, and my wife, as she lay on my 
shoulder in the post-chaise going to London, said it was the happiest 
ride she had taken since our marriage. 

One night we stayed at Reading, whence I despatched a note to 
my agent at Gray’s Inn, saying I would be with him during the day, 
and begging him to procure me a lodging, and to hasten the pre- 
parations for the loan. My Lady and I agreed that we would go 
to France, and wait there for better times ; and that night, over 
our supper, formed a score of plans both for pleasure and retrench- 


I AM OUTWITTED BY LADY LYNDON 265 

ment. You would have thought it was Darby and Joan together 
over their supper. 0 woman ! woman ! when I recollect Lady 
Lyndon’s smiles and blandishments — how happy she seemed to be 
on that night ! what an air of innocent confidence appeared in her 
behaviour, and what affectionate names she called me ! — I am lost 
in wonder at the depth of her hyprocrisy. Who can be surprised 
that an unsuspecting person like myself should have been a victim 
to such a consummate deceiver ! 

We were in London at three o’clock, and half-an-hour before the 
time appointed our chaise drove to Gray’s Inn. I easily found out 
Mr. Tapewell’s apartments — a gloomy den it was, and in an unlucky 
hour I entered it ! As we went up the dirty back-stair, lighted 
by a feeble lamp and the dim sky of a dismal London afternoon, 
my wife seemed agitated and faint. “ Redmond,” said she, as we 
got up to the door, “ don’t go in : I am sure there is danger. There’s 
time yet ; let us go back — to Ireland — anywhere ! ” And she put 
herself before the door, in one of her theatrical attitudes, and took 
my hand. 

I just pushed her away to one side. “ Lady Lyndon,” said I, 
“ you are an old fool ! ” 

“ Old fool ! ” said she ; and she jumped at the bell, which was 
quickly answered by a mouldy-looking gentleman in an unpowdered 
wig, to whom she cried, “ Say Lady Lyndon is here ; ” and stalked 
down the passage muttering “ Old fool.” It was “ old ” which was 
the epithet that touched her. I might call her anything but that. 

Mr. Tapewell was in his musty room, surrounded by his parch- 
ments and tin boxes. He advanced and bowed ; begged her Lady- 
ship to be seated ; pointed towards a chair for me, which I took, 
rather wondering at his insolence; and then retreated to a side- 
door, saying he would be back in one moment. 

And back he did come in one moment, bringing with him — 
whom do you think 1 Another lawyer, six constables in red waist- 
coats with bludgeons and pistols, my Lord George Poynings, and 
his aunt Lady Jane Peckover. 

When my Lady Lyndon saw her old flame, she flung herself 
into his arms in an hysterical passion. She called him her saviour, 
her preserver, her gallant knight ; and then, turning round to me, 
poured out a flood of invective which quite astonished me. 

“ Old fool as I am,” said she, “ I have outwitted the most 
crafty and treacherous monster under the sun. Yes, I was a fool 
when I married you, and gave up other and nobler hearts for your 
sake — yes, I was a fool when I forgot my name and lineage to 
unite myself with a base-born adventurer— a fool to bear, without 
repining, the most monstrous tyranny that ever woman suffered; 


266 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

to allow my property to be squandered ; to see women, as base and 
low-born as yourself ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, be calm ! ” cries the lawyer ; and then 
bounded back behind the constables, seeing a threatening look in 
my eye which the rascal did not like. Indeed, I could have torn 
him to pieces, had he come near me. Meanwhile, my Lady con- 
tinued in a strain of incoherent fury ; screaming against me, and 
against my mother, especially, upon whom she heaped abuse worthy 
of Billingsgate, and always beginning and ending the sentence with 
the word fool. 

“You don’t tell all, my Lady,” says I bitterly; “I said 
old fool.” 

“I have no doubt you said and did, sir, everything that a 
blackguard could say or do,” interposed little Poynings. “ This 
lady is now safe under the protection of her relations and the law, 
and need fear your infamous persecutions no longer.” 

“ But you are not safe,” roared I ; “ and, as sure as I am a 
man of honour, and have tasted your blood once, I will have your 
heart’s blood now.” 

“ Take down his words, constables : swear the peace against 
him ! ” screamed the little lawyer, from behind his tipstaffs. 

“ I would not sully my sword with the blood of such a ruffian,” 
cried my Lord, relying on the same doughty protection. “ If the 
scoundrel remains in London another day, he will be seized as a 
common swindler.” And this threat indeed made me wince; for 
I knew that there were scores of writs out against me in town, 
and that once in prison my case was hopeless. 

“ Where’s the man will seize me 1 ” shouted I, drawing my sword, 
and placing my back to the door. “ Let the scoundrel come. You 
— you cowardly braggart, come first, if you have the soul of a 
man ! ” 

“We’re not going to seize you!” said the lawyer; my Lady- 
ship, her aunt, and a division of the bailiffs moving off as he spoke. 
“ My dear sir, we don’t wish to seize you : we will give you a 
handsome sum to leave the country ; only leave her Ladyship in 
peace ! ” 

“ And the country will be well rid of such a villain ! ” says 
my Lord, retreating too, and not sorry to get out of my reach : 
and the scoundrel of a lawyer followed him, leaving me in pos- 
session of the apartment, and in company of the bullies from the 
police-office, who were all armed to the teeth. I was no longer 
the man I was at twenty, when I should have charged 'the ruffians 
sword in hand, and have sent at least one of them to his account. 
I was broken in spirit ; regularly caught in the toils : utterly 


I TREAT WITH MY ENEMIES 


267 

baffled and beaten by that woman. Was she relenting at the 
door, when she paused and begged me turn back? Had she not 
a lingering love for me still? Her conduct showed it, as I came 
to reflect on it. It was my only chance now left in the world, 
so I put down my sword upon the lawyer’s desk. 

“ Gentlemen,” said I, “ I shall use no violence ; you may tell 
Mr. Tapewell I am quite ready to speak with him when he is 
at leisure ! ” and I sat down and folded my arms quite peaceably. 
What a change from the Barry Lyndon of old days ! but, as I 
have read in an old book about Hannibal the Carthaginian general, 
when he invaded the Romans, his troops, which were the most 
gallant in the world, and carried all before them, went into can- 
tonments in some city where they were so sated with the luxuries 
and pleasures of life, that they were easily beaten in the next 
campaign. It was so with me now. My strength of mind and 
body were no longer those of the brave youth who shot his man 
at fifteen, and fought a score of battles within six years afterwards. 
Now, in the Fleet Prison, where I write this, there is a small 
man who is always jeering me and making game of me ; who asks 
me to fight, and I haven’t the courage to touch him. But I am 
anticipating the gloomy and wretched events of my history of 
humiliation, and had better proceed in order. 

I took a lodging in a coffee-house near Gray’s Inn ; taking care 
to inform Mr. Tapewell of my whereabouts, and anxiously expect- 
ing a visit from him. He came and brought me the terms which 
Lady Lyndon’s friends proposed — a paltry annuity of £300 a year ; 
to be paid on the condition of my remaining abroad out of the three 
kingdoms, and to be stopped on the instant of my return. He 
told me what I very well knew, that my stay in London would 
infallibly plunge me in gaol; that there were writs innumerable 
taken out against me here, and in the West of England ; that my 
credit was so blown upon that I could not hope to raise a shilling ; 
and he left me a night to consider of his proposal; saying that, 
if I refused it, the family would proceed : if I acceded, a quarter’s 
salary should be paid to me at any foreign port I should prefer. 

What was the poor, lonely, and broken-hearted man to do? 
I took the annuity, arid was declared outlaw in the course of next 
week. The rascal Quin had, I found, been, after all, the cause 
of my undoing. It was he devised the scheme for bringing me 
up to London; sealing the attorney’s letter with a seal which 
had been agreed upon between him and the Countess formerly: 
indeed he had always been for trying .the plan, and had proposed 
it at first ; but her Ladyship, with her inordinate love of romance, 
preferred the project of elopement. Of these points my mother 


268 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

wrote me word in my lonely exile, offering at the same time to 
come over and share it with me ; which proposal I declined. She 
left Castle Lyndon a very short time after I had quitted it ; and 
there was silence in that hall where, under my authority, had been 
exhibited so much hospitality and splendour. She thought she 
would never see me again, and bitterly reproached me for neglecting 
her; but she was mistaken in that, and in her estimate of me. 
She is very old, and is sitting by my side at this moment in the 
prison, working : she has a bedroom in Fleet Market over the 
way ; and, with the fifty-pound annuity, which she has kept with 
a wise prudence, we manage to eke out a miserable existence, quite 
unworthy of the famous and fashionable Barry Lyndon. 

Mr. Barry Lyndon’s personal narrative finishes here, for the 
hand of death interrupted the ingenious author soon after the period 
at which the Memoir was compiled ; after he had lived nineteen 
years an inmate of the Fleet Prison, where the prison records state 
he died of delirium tremens. His mother attained a prodigious old 
age, and the inhabitants of the place in her time can record with 
accuracy the daily disputes which used to take place between mother 
and son ; until the latter, from habits of intoxication, falling into a 
state of almost imbecility, was tended by his tough old parent as a 
baby almost, and would cry if deprived of his necessary glass of 
brandy. 

His life on the Continent we have not the means of following 
accurately; but he appears to have resumed his former profession 
of a gambler, without his former success. 

He returned secretly to England, after some time, and made an 
abortive attempt to extort money from Lord George Poynings, under 
a threat of publishing his correspondence with Lady Lyndon ; and 
so preventing his Lordship’s match with Miss Driver, a great 
heiress, of strict principles, and immense property in slaves in the 
West Indies. Barry narrowly escaped being taken prisoner by the 
bailiffs who were despatched after him by his Lordship, who would 
have stopped his pension ; but Lady Lyndon would never consent 
to that act of justice, and, indeed, broke with my Lord George the 
very moment lie married the West India lady. 

The fact is, the old Countess thought her charms were perennial, 
and was never out of love with her husband. She was living at 
Bath; her property being carefully nursed by her noble relatives 
the Tiptoffs, who were to succeed to it in default of direct heirs : 
and such was the address of Barry, and the sway he still held over 
the woman, that he actually had almost persuaded her to go and 
live with him again ; when his plan and hers was interrupted by 



THE LAST DAYS OF BARRY LYNDON 




CONCLUSION 269 

the appearance of a person who had been deemed dead for several 
years. 

This was no other than Viscount Bullingdon, who started up to 
the surprise of all ; and especially to that of his kinsman of the 
house of Tip toff. This young nobleman made his appearance at 
Bath, with the letter from Barry to Lord George in his hand ; in 
which the former threatened to expose his connection with Lady 
Lyndon — a connection, we need not state, which did not reflect the 
slightest dishonour upon either party, and only showed that her 
Ladyship was in the habit of writing exceedingly foolish letters ; 
as many ladies, nay gentlemen, have done ere this. For calling the 
honour of his mother in question, Lord Bullingdon assaulted his 
stepfather (living at Bath under the name of Mr. Jones), and ad- 
ministered to him a tremendous castigation in the Pump-Room. 

His Lordship’s history, since his departure, was a romantic one 
which we do not feel bound to narrate. He had been wounded in 
the American War, reported dead, left prisoner, and escaped. The 
remittances which were promised him were never sent ; the thought 
of the neglect almost broke the heart of the wild and romantic 
young man, and he determined to remain dead to the world at least, 
and to the mother who had denied him. It was in the woods of 
Canada, and three years after the event had occurred, that he saw the 
death of his half-brother chronicled in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
under the title of “Fatal Accident to Lord Viscount Castle Lyndon;” 
on which he determined to return to England : where, though he 
made himself known, it was with very great difficulty indeed that 
he satisfied Lord Tiptoff of the authenticity of his claim. He was 
about to pay a visit to his lady mother at Bath, when he recognised 
the well-known face of Mr. Barry Lyndon, in spite of the modest 
disguise which that gentleman wore, and revenged upon his person 
the insults of former days. 

Lady Lyndon was furious when she heard of the rencounter ; 
declined to see her son, and was for rushing at once to the arms of 
her adored Barry ; but that gentleman had been carried off, mean- 
while, from gaol to gaol, until he was lodged in the hands of Mr. 
Bendigo, of Chancery Lane, an assistant to the Sheriff of Middlesex ; 
from whose house he went to the Fleet Prison. The sheriff and his 
assistant, the prisoner, nay, the prison itself, are now no more. 

As long as Lady Lyndon lived, Barry enjoyed his income, and 
was perhaps as happy in prison as at any period of his existence ; 
when her Ladyship died, her successor sternly cut off the annuity, 
devoting the sum to charities : which, he said, would make a nobler 
use of it than the scoundrel who had enjoyed it hitherto. At his 
Lordship’s death, in the Spanish campaign, in the year 1811, his 


270 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON, ESQ. 

estate fell into the family of the Tiptoffs, and his title merged in 
their superior rank ; but it does not appear that the Marquis of 
Tiptoff (Lord George succeeded to the title on the demise of his 
brother) renewed either the pension of Mr. Barry or the charities 
which the late lord had endowed. The estate has vastly improved 
under his Lordship’s careful management. The trees in Hackton 
Park are all about forty years old, and the Irish property is rented 
in exceedingly small farms to the peasantry; who still entertain 
the stranger witli stories of the daring and the devilry, and the 
wickedness and the fall of Barry Lyndon. 


THE 


FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 




t 



THE 


FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 
PREFACE 

George Fitz-Boodle, Esquire, to Oliver Yorke, Esquire. 

Omnium Club : May 20 , 1842 . 

D EAR SIR, — I have always been considered the third-best 
whist-player in Europe, and (though never betting more 
than five pounds) have for many years past added consider- 
ably to my yearly income by my skill in the game, until the 
commencement of the present season, when a French gentleman, 
Monsieur Lalouette, was admitted to the club where I usually play. 
His skill and reputation were so great that no men of the club were 
inclined to play against us two of a side ; and the consequence has 
been, that we have been in a manner pitted against one another. 
By a strange turn of luck (for I cannot admit the idea of his 
superiority), Fortune, since the Frenchman’s arrival, has been 
almost constantly against me, and I have lost two-and-thirty nights 
in the course of a couple of score of night’s play. 

Everybody knows that I am a poor man ; and so much has 
Lalouette’s luck drained my finances, that only last week I was 
obliged to give him that famous grey cob on which you have seen 
me riding in the Park (I can’t afford a thoroughbred, and hate a 
cocktail), — I was, I say, forced to give him up my cob in exchange 
for four ponies which I owed him. Thus, as I never walk, being 
a heavy man whom nobody cares to mount, my time hangs heavily 
on my hands ; and as I hate home, or that apology for it — a 
bachelor’s lodgings — and as I have nothing earthly to do now 


274 THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

until I can afford to purchase another horse, I spend my time in 
sauntering from one club to another, passing many rather listless 
hours in them before the men come in. 

You will say, Why not take to backgammon, or fcarte, or amuse 
yourself with a book? Sir (putting out of the question the fact 
that I do not play upon credit), I make a point never to play before 
candles are lighted ; and as for books, I must candidly confess to 
you I am not a reading man. ’Twas but the other day that some 
one recommended me to read your Magazine after dinner, saying 
it contained an exceedingly witty article upon — I forget what. I 
give you my honour, sir, that I took up the work at six, meaning 
to amuse myself till seven, when Lord Trumpington’s dinner was 
to come off, and egad ! in two minutes I fell asleep, and never woke 
till midnight. Nobody ever thought of looking for me in the library, 
where nobody ever goes ; and so ravenously hungry was I, that I 
was obliged to walk off to Crockford’s for supper. 

What is it that makes you literary persons so stupid ? I have 
met various individuals in society who I was told were writers of 
books, and that sort of thing, and expecting rather to be amused by 
their conversation, have invariably found them dull to a degree, and 
as for information, without a particle of it. Sir, I actually asked one 
of these fellows, “ What was the nick to seven ? ” and he stared in 
my face, and said he didn’t know. He was hugely overdressed in 
satin, rings, chains, and so forth; and at the beginning of dinner 
was disposed to be rather talkative and pert ; but my little sally 
silenced him, I promise you, and got up a good laugh at his 
expense too. “Leave George alone,” said little Lord Cinqbars, 
“I warrant he’ll be a match for any of you literary fellows.” 
Cinqbars is no great wiseacre; but, indeed, it requires no great 
wiseacre to know that. 

What is the simple deduction to be drawn from this truth? 
Why, this — that a man to be amusing and well informed, has no 
need of books at all, and had much better go to the world and to 
men for his knowledge. There was Ulysses, now, the Greek fellow 
engaged in the Trojan war, as I dare say you know ; well, he was 
the cleverest man possible, and how ? From having seen men and 
cities, their manners noted and their realms surveyed, to be sure. 
So have I. I have been in every capital, and can order a dinner 
in every language in Europe. 

My notion, then, is this. I have a great deal of spare time on 
my hands, and as I am told you pay a handsome sum to persons 
writing for you, I will furnish you occasionally with some of my 
views upon men and things ; occasional histories of my acquaintance, 
which I think may amuse you ; personal narratives of my own ; 


275 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 

essays, and what not. I am told that I do not spell correctly. 
This, of course, I don’t know ; but you will remember that Richelieu 
and Marlborough could not spell, and, egad ! I am an honest man, 
and desire to be no better than they. I know that it is the matter, 
and not the manner, which is of importance. Have the goodness, 
then, to let one of your understrappers correct the spelling and the 
grammar of my papers : and you can give him a few shillings in my 
name for his trouble. 

Begging you to accept the assurance of my high consideration, 
I am, sir, your obedient servant, 

George Sayage Fitz-Boodle. 

P.S . — By the way, I have said in my letter that I found all 
literary persons vulgar and dull. Permit me to contradict this 
with regard to yourself. I met you once at Blackwall, I think it 
was, and really did not remark anything offensive in your accent or 
appearance. 


Before commencing the series of moral disquisitions, &c., which 
I intend, the reader may as well know who I am, and what my 
past course of life has been. To say that I am a Fitz-Boodle 
is to say at once that I am a gentleman. Our family has held 
the estate of Boodle ever since the reign of Henry II. ; and it is 
out of no ill-will to my elder brother, or unnatural desire for his 
death, but only because the estate is a very good one, that I wish 
heartily it was mine : I would say as much of Chatsworth or 
Eaton Hall. 

I am not, in the first place, what is called a ladies’ man, having 
contracted an irrepressible habit of smoking after dinner, which has 
obliged me to give up a great deal of the dear creatures’ society; 
nor can I go much to country-houses for the same reason. Say 
what they will, ladies do not like you to smoke in their bedrooms ; 
their silly little noses scent out the odour upon the chintz, weeks 
after you have left them. Sir John has been caught coming to bed 
particularly merry and redolent of cigar-smoke ; young George, from 
Eton, was absolutely found in the little greenhouse puffing an 
Havannah ; and when discovered, they both lay the blame upon 
Fitz-Boodle. “It was Mr. Fitz-Boodle, mamma,” says George, 
“who offered me the cigar, and I did not like to refuse him.” 
“That rascal Fitz seduced us, my dear,” says Sir John, “and kept 
us laughing until past midnight.” Her Ladyship instantly sets me 
down as a person to be avoided. “George,” whispers she to her 
boy, “ promise me, on your honour, when you go to town, not to 


276 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


know that man.” And when she enters the breakfast-room for 
prayers, the first greeting is a peculiar expression of countenance, 
and inhaling of breath, by which my Lady indicates the presence 
of some exceedingly disagreeable odour in the room. She makes 
you the faintest of curtseys, and regards you, if not with a “ flashing 
eye,” as in the novels, at least with a “distended nostril.” During 
the whole of the service, her heart is filled with the blackest gall 
towards you ; and she is thinking about the best means of getting 
you out of the house. 

What is this smoking that it should be considered a crime % I 
believe in my heart that women are jealous of it, as of a rival. 
They speak of it as of some secret awful vice that seizes upon a 
man, and makes him a pariah from genteel society. I would lay 
a guinea that many a lady who has just been kind enough to read 
the above lines lays down the book, after this confession of mine 
that I am a smoker, and says, “ Oh, the vulgar wretch ! ” and 
passes on to something else. 

The fact is, that the cigar is a rival to the ladies, and their 
conqueror too. In the chief pipe-smoking nations they are kept 
in subjection. While the chief, Little White Belt, smokes, the 
women are silent in his wigwam ; while Mahomet Ben Jawbrahim 
causes volumes of odorous incense of Latakia to play round his 
beard, the women of the harem do not disturb his meditations, but 
only add to the delight of them by tinkling on a dulcimer and 
dancing before him. When Professor Strumpff of Gottingen takes 
down No. 13 from the wall, with a picture of Beatrice Cenci upon 
it, and which holds a pound of canaster, the Frau Professorin knows 
that for two hours Hermann is engaged, and takes up her stockings 
and knits in quiet. The constitution of French society has been 
quite changed within the last twelve years : an ancient and re- 
spectable dynasty has been overthrown ; an aristocracy which 
Napoleon could never master has disappeared: and from What 
cause? I do not hesitate to say , — from the habit of smoking. 
Ask any man whether, five years before the Revolution of July, 
if you wanted a cigar at Paris, they did not bring you a roll of 
tobacco with a straw in it? Now, the whole city smokes; society 
is changed ; and be sure of this, ladies, a similar combat is going 
on in this country at present between cigar-smoking and you. Do 
you suppose you will conquer ? Look over the wide world, and see 
that your adversary has overcome it. Germany has been puffing 
for threescore years ; France smokes to a man. Do you think you 
can keep the enemy out of England 1 Psha ! look at his progress. 
Ask the club-houses, Have they smoking-rooms, or not ? Are they 
not obliged to yield to the general want of the age, in spite of the 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 277 

resistance of the old women on the committees ? I, for my part, 
do not despair to see a bishop lolling out of the “ Athenaeum ” 
with a cheroot in his mouth, or, at any rate, a pipe stuck in his 
shovel-hat. 

But as in all great causes and in promulgating new and illustrious 
theories, their first propounders and exponents are generally the 
victims of their enthusiasm, of course the first preachers of smoking 
have been martyrs, too ; and George Fitz-Boodle is one. The first 
gas-man was ruined ; the inventor of steam-engine printing became 
a pauper. I began to smoke in days when the task was one of 
some danger, and paid the penalty of my crime. I was flogged 
most fiercely for my first cigar ; for, being asked to dine one 
Sunday evening with a half-pay colonel of dragoons (the gallant, 
simple, humorous Shortcut — Heaven bless him ! — I have had many 
a guinea from him who had so few), he insisted upon my smoking 
in his room at the “Salopian,” and the consequence was, that I 
became so violently ill as to be reported intoxicated upon my return 
to Slaughter-House School, where I was a boarder, and I was 
whipped the next morning for my peccadillo. At Christ Church, 
one of our tutors was the celebrated lamented Otto Rose, who 
w T ould have been a bishop under the present Government, had not 
an immoderate indulgence in water-gruel cut short his elegant and 
useful career. He was a good man, a pretty scholar and poet (the 
episode upon the discovery of eau-de-cologne, in his prize poem on 
“ The Rhine,” was considered a masterpiece of art, though I’m not 
much of a judge myself upon such matters), and he was as remark- 
able for his fondness for a tuft as for his nervous antipathy to 
tobacco. As ill-luck would have it, my rooms (in Tom Quad) 
were exactly under his ; and I was grown by this time to be a con- 
firmed smoker. I was a baronet’s son (we are of James the First’s 
creation), and I do believe our tutor could have pardoned any crime 
in the world but this. He had seen me in a tandem, and at that 
moment was seized with a violent fit of sneezing — (sternutatory 
paroxysm he called it) — at the conclusion of which I was a mile 
down the Woodstock Road. He had seen me in pink, as we used 
to call it, swaggering in the open sunshine across a grass-plat in 
the court ; but spied out opportunely a servitor, one Todhunter by 
name, who was going to morning chapel with his shoestring untied, 
and forthwith sprang towards that unfortunate person, to set him 
an imposition. Everything, in fact, but tobacco he could forgive. 
Why did cursed fortune bring him into the rooms over mine ? The 
odour of the cigars made his gentle spirit quite furious ; and one 
luckless morning, when I was standing before my “oak,” and 
chanced to puff a great bouffee of Varinas into his face, he forgot 


278 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


his respect for my family altogether (I was the second son, and 
my brother a sickly creature, then , — he is now sixteen stone in 
weight, and has a half-score of children) ; gave me a severe lecture, 
to which I replied rather hotly, as was my wont. And then came 
demand for an apology ; refusal on my part ; appeal to the Dean ; 
Convocation ; and rustication of George Savage Fitz-Boodle. 

My father had taken a second wife (of the noble house of Flint- 
skinner), and Lady Fitz-Boodle detested smoking, as a woman of 
her high principles should. She had an entire mastery over the 
worthy old gentleman, and thought I was a sort of demon of 
wickedness. The old man went to his grave with some similar 
notion, — Heaven help him ! — and left me but the wretched twelve 
thousand pounds secured to me on my poor mother’s property. 

In the army my luck was much the same. I joined the 
— th Lancers, Lieutenant - Colonel Lord Martingale, in the year 
1817. I only did duty with the regiment for three months. We 
were quartered at Cork, where I found the Irish doodheen and 
tobacco the pleasantest smoking possible ; and was found by his 
Lordship, one day, upon stable duty, smoking the shortest dearest 
little dumpy clay-pipe in the world. 

“ Cornet Fitz-Boodle,” said my Lord, in a towering passion, 
“ from what blackguard did you get that pipe 1 ” 

I omit the oaths which garnished invariably his Lordship’s 
conversation. 

“I got it, my Lord,” said I, “ from one Terence Mullins, a 
jingle-driver, with a packet of his peculiar tobacco. You sometimes 
smoke Turkish, I believe ; do try this. Isn’t it good ? ” And in 
the simplest way in the world I puffed a volume into his face. “ I 
see you like it,” said I, so coolly, that the men — and I do believe 
the horses — burst out laughing. 

He started back — choking almost, and recovered himself only 
to vent such a storm of oaths and curses that I was compelled to 
request Captain Rawdon (the captain on duty) to take note of his 
Lordship’s words ; and unluckily could not help adding a question 
which settled my business. “You were good enough,” I said, “to 
ask me, my Lord, from what blackguard I got my pipe : might I 
ask from what blackguard you learned your language 1 ” 

This was quite enough. Had I said, “ From what gentleman 
did your Lordship learn your language 1 ” the point would have been 
quite as good, and my Lord Martingale would have suffered in my 
place : as it was, I was so strongly recommended to sell out by His 
Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief that, being of a good-natured 
disposition, never knowing how to refuse a friend, I at once threw 
up my hopes of military distinction and retired into civil life. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 279 

My Lord was kind enough to meet me afterwards in a field in 
the Glanmire road, where he put a hall into my leg. This I 
returned to him some years later with about twenty-three others — 
black ones — when he came to be balloted for at a club of which I 
have the honour to be a member. 

Thus by the indulgence of a simple and harmless propensity, — 
of a propensity which can inflict an injury upon no person or thing 
except the coat and the person of him who indulges in it, — of a custom 
honoured and observed in almost all the nations of the world, — of a 
custom which, far from leading a man into any wickedness or dissipa- 
tion to which youth is subject, on the contrary, begets only benevolent 
silence and thoughtful good-humoured observation — I found at the age 
of twenty all my prospects in life destroyed. I cared not for woman 
in those days : the calm smoker has a sweet companion in his pipe. 
I did not drink immoderately of wine ; for though a friend to trifling 
potations, to excessively strong drinks tobacco is abhorrent. I never 
thought of gambling, for the lover of the pipe has no need of such 
excitement ; but I was considered a monster of dissipation in my 
family, and bade fair to come to ruin. 

“ Look at George,” my mother-in-law said to the genteel and 
correct young Flintskinners. “He entered the world with every 
prospect in life, and see in what an abyss of degradation his fatal 
habits have plunged him ! At school he was flogged and disgraced, 
he was disgraced and rusticated at the university, he was disgraced 
and expelled from the army ! He might have had the living of 
Boodle” (her Ladyship gave it to one of her nephews), “but he 
would not take his degree; his papa would have purchased him a 
troop — nay, a lieutenant-colonelcy some day, but for his fatal excesses. 
And now as long as my dear husband will listen to the voice of a wife 
who adores him — never, never shall he spend a shilling upon so worth- 
less a young man. He has a small income from his mother (I cannot 
but think that the first Lady Fitz-Boodle was a weak and misguided 
.person) ; let him live upon his mean pittance as he can, and I heartily 
pray we may not hear of him in gaol ! ” 

My brother, after he came to the estate, married the ninth 
daughter of our neighbour, Sir John Spreadeagle; and Boodle Hall 
has seen a new little Fitz-Boodle with every succeeding spring. The 
dowager retired to Scotland with a large jointure and a wondrous 
heap of savings. Lady Fitz is a good creature, but she thinks me 
something diabolical, trembles when she sees me, and gathering all 
her children about her, rushes into the nursery whenever I pay that 
little seminary a visit, and actually slapped poor little Frank’s ears 
one day when I was teaching him to ride upon the back of a New- 
foundland dog. 


280 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


“ George,” said my brother to me the last time I paid him a 
visit at the old hall, “ don’t be angry, my dear fellow, but Maria is 
in a — hum — in a delicate situation, expecting her — hum” — (the 
eleventh) — “ and do you know you frighten her h It was but 
yesterday you met her in the rookery — you were smoking that 
enormous German pipe — and when she came in she had an hysterical 
seizure, and Drench says that in her situation it’s dangerous. And 
I say, George, if you go to town you’ll find a couple of hundred at 
your banker’s.” And with this the poor fellow shook me by the 
hand, and called for a fresh bottle of claret. 

Afterwards he told me, with many hesitations, that my room at 
Boodle Hall had been made into a second nursery. I see my sister- 
in-law in London twice or thrice in the season, and the little people, 
who have almost forgotten to call me Uncle George. 

It’s hard, too, for I am a lonely man after all, and my heart 
yearns to them. The other day I smuggled a couple of them into 
my chambers, and had a little feast of cream and strawberries to 
welcome them. But it had like to cost the nursery-maid (a Swiss 
girl that Fitz-Boodle hired somewhere in his travels) her place. My 
step-mamma, who happened to be in town, came flying down in her 
chariot, pounced upon the poor thing and the children in the midst 
of the entertainment; and when I asked her, with rather a bad 
grace to be sure, to take a chair and a share of the feast — 

“Mr. Fitz-Boodle,” says she, “I am not accustomed to sit down 
in a place that smells of tobacco like an ale-house — an ale-house 
inhabited by a serpent , sir. A serpent ! — do you understand me ? — - 
who carries his poison into his brother’s own house, and purshues his 
eenfamous designs before his brother’s own children. Put on Miss 
Maria’s bonnet this instant. Mamsell, ontondy-voo 1 Metty le bonny 
a mamsell. And I shall take care, Mamsell, that you return to 
Switzerland to-morrow. I’ve no doubt you are a relation of Cour- 
voisier — oui ! oui I Courvoisier , vous comprenny — and you shall 
certainly be sent back to your friends. 

With this speech, and with the children and their maid sobbing 
before her, my Lady retired ; but for once my sister-in-law was on 
my side, not liking the meddlement of the elder lady. 

I know, then, that from indulging in that simple habit of smok- 
ing, I have gained among the ladies a dreadful reputation. I see 
that they look coolly upon me, and darkly at their husbands when 
they arrive at home in my company. Men, I observe, in conse- 
quence, ask me to dine much oftener at the club, or the “ Star and 
Garter ” at Richmond, or at “ Lovegrove’s,” than in their own 
houses ; and with this sort of arrangement I am fain to acquiesce ; 
for, as I said before, I am of an easy temper, and can at any rate 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 281 

take my cigar-case out after dinner at Blackball, when my Lady or 
the duchess is not by. I know, of course, the best men in town ; 
and as for ladies’ society, not having it (for I will have none of your 
pseudo - ladies, such as sometimes honour bachelors’ parties, — 
actresses, couturieres, opera-dancers, and so forth) — as for ladies’ 
society, I say, I cry pish ! ’tis not worth the trouble of the compli- 
menting, and the bother of pumps and black silk stockings. 

Let any man remember what ladies’ society was when he had 
an opportunity of seeing them among themselves, as What-d’ye-call- 
’im does in the Thesmophoria — (I beg pardon, I was on the verge 
of a classical illusion, which I abominate) — I mean at that period of 
his life when the intellect is pretty acute, though the body is small 
— namely, when a young gentleman is about eleven years of age, 
dining at his father’s table during the holidays, and is requested by 
his papa to quit the dinner table when the ladies retire from it. 

Corbleu ! I recollect their whole talk as well as if it had been 
whispered but yesterday; and can see, after a long dinner, the 
yellow summer sun throwing long shadows over the lawn before the 
dining-room windows, and my poor mother and her company of 
ladies sailing away to the music-room in old Boodle Hall. The 
Countess Dawdley was the great lady in our county, a portly lady 
who used to love crimson satin in those days, and birds-of-paradise. 
She was flaxen-haired, and the Regent once said she resembled one 
of King Charles’s beauties. 

When Sir John Todcaster used to begin his famous story of the 
exciseman (I shall not tell it here, for very good reasons), my poor 
mother used to turn to Lady Dawdley, and give that mystic signal 
at which all females rise from their chairs. Tufthunt, the curate, 
would spring from his seat, and be sure to be the first to open the 
door for the retreating ladies ; and my brother Tom and I, though 
remaining stoutly in our places, were speedily ejected from them by 
the governor’s invariable remark, “Tom and George, if you have 
had quite enough of wine, you had better go and join your mamma.” 
Yonder she marches, Heaven bless her ! through the old oak hall 
(how long the shadows of the antlers are on the wainscot, and the 
armour of Rollo Fitz-Boodle looks in the sunset as if it were em- 
blazoned with rubies) — yonder she marches, stately and tall, in her 
invariable pearl-coloured tabinet, followed by Lady Dawdley, blazing 
like a flamingo ; next comes Lady Emily Tufthunt (she was Lady 
Emily Flintskinner), who will not for all the world take precedence 
of rich, vulgar, kind, good-humoured Mrs. Colonel Grogwater, as 
she would be called, with a yellow little husband from Madras, who 
first taught me to drink sangaree. He was a new arrival in our 
county, but paid nobly to the hounds, and occupied hospitably a 


282 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


house which was always famous for its hospitality — Sievely Hall 
(poor Bob Cullender ran through seven thousand a year before he 
was thirty years old). Once when I was a lad, Colonel Grogwater 
gave me two gold mohurs out of his desk for whist-markers, and 
I’m sorry to say I ran up from Eton and sold them both for seventy- 
three shillings at a shop in Cornhill. But to return to the ladies, 
who are all this while kept waiting in the hall, and to their usual 
conversation after dinner. 

Can any man forget how miserably flat it was ? Five matrons 
sit on sofas, and talk in a subdued voice : — 

First Lady ( mysteriously ). My dear Lady Dawdley, do tell me 
about poor Susan Tuckett. 

Second Lady . All three children are perfectly well, and I assure 
you as fine babies as I ever saw in my life. I made her give them 
Daffy’s Elixir the first day ; and it was the greatest mercy that I 
had some of Frederick’s baby-clothes by me ; for you know I had 
provided Susan with sets for one only, and really 

Third L^ady. Of course one couldn’t ; and for my part I think 
your Ladyship is a great deal too kind to these people. A little 
gardener’s boy dressed in Lord Dawdley’s frocks indeed ! I recollect 
that one at his christening had the sweetest lace in the world ! 

Fourth Lady. What do you think of this, ma’am — Lady Emily, 
I mean ! I have just had it from Howell and James — guipure , 
they call it. Isn’t it an odd name for lace % And they charge me, 
upon my conscience, four guineas a yard ! 

Third Lady. My mother, when she came to Flintskinner, had 
lace upon her robe that cost sixty guineas a yard, ma’am ! ’Twas 
sent from Malines direct by our relation, the Count d’Araignay. 

Fourth Lady {aside). I thought she would not let the evening 
pass without talking of her Malines lace and her Count d’Araignay. 
Odious people ! they don’t spare their backs, but they pinch 
their 

Here Tom upsets a coffee cup over his white jean trousers, and 
another young gentleman bursts into a laugh, saying, “By Jove, 
that’s a good ’un ! ” 

“ George, my dear,” says mamma, “ had not you and your young 
friend better go into the garden 1 ? But mind, no fruit, or Dr. Glauber 
must be called in again immediately ! ” And we all go, and in ten 
minutes I and my brother are fighting in the stables. 

If, instead of listening to the matrons and their discourse, we 
had taken the opportunity of attending to the conversation of the 
Misses, we should have heard matter not a whit more interesting. 

First Miss. They were all three in blue crape ; you never saw 
anything so odious. And I know for a certainty that they wore 


FITZ-B'OODLE’S CONFESSIONS 283 

those dresses at Muddlebury, at the archery-ball, and I dare say 
they had them in town. 

Second Miss. Don’t you think Jemima decidedly crooked? And 
those fair complexions, they freckle so, that really Miss Blanche 
ought to be called Miss Brown. 

Third Miss. He, he, he ! 

Fourth Miss. Don’t you think Blanche is a pretty name 1 

First Miss. La ! do you think so, dear ? Why, it’s my second 
name ! 

Second Miss. Then I’m sure Captain Travers thinks it a 
beautiful name ! 

Third Miss. He, he, he ! 

Fourth Miss. What was he telling you at dinner that seemed to 
interest you so ? 

First Miss. 0 law, nothing ! — that is, yes ! Charles — that is, 
Captain Travers — is a sweet poet, and was reciting to me some lines 
that he had composed upon a faded violet — 

“ The odour from the flower is gone, 

That like thy ” 

like thy something, I forget what it was ; but his lines are sweet, 
and so original too ! I wish that horrid Sir John Todcaster had not 
begun his story of the exciseman, for Lady Fitz-Boodle always quits 
the table when he begins. 

Third Miss. Do you like those tufts that gentlemen wear some- 
times on their chins % 

Second Miss. Nonsense, Mary ! 

Third Miss. Well, I only asked, Jane. Frank thinks, you 
know, that he shall very soon have one, and puts bear’s-grease on 
his chin every night. 

Second Miss. Mary, nonsense ! 

Third Miss. Well, only ask him. You know he came to our 
dressing-room last night and took the pomatum away ; and he says 
that when boys go to Oxford they always 

First Miss. 0 heavens ! have you heard the news about the 
Lancers ? Charles — that is, Captain Travers — told it me ! 

Second Miss. Law, they won’t go away before the ball, I hope ! 

First Miss. No, but on the 15th they are to shave their 
moustaches ! He says that Lord Tufto is in a perfect fury 
about it ! 

Second Miss. And poor George Beardmore, too ! — &c. 

Here Tom upsets the coffee over his trousers, and the conversa- 
tion ends. I can recollect a dozen such, and ask any man of sense 
whether such talk amuses him ? 


284 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


Try again to speak to a young lady while you are dancing — 
what we call in this country — a quadrille. What nonsense do you 
invariably give and receive in return ! No, I am a woman-scorner, 
and don’t care to own it. I hate young ladies ! Have I not been 
in love with several, and has any one of them ever treated me 
decently 'i I hate married women ! Do they not hate me ? and, 
simply because I smoke, try to draw their husbands away from my 
society 1 I hate dowagers ! Have I not cause ? Does not every 
dowager in London point to George Fitz-Boodle as to a dissolute 
wretch whom young and old should avoid 1 

And yet do not imagine that I have not loved. I have, and 
madly, many, many times ! I am but eight-and-thirty , * not past 
the age of passion, and may very likely end by running off with an 
heiress — or a cook-maid (for who knows what strange freaks Love 
may choose to play in his own particular person ? and I hold a man 
to be a mean creature who calculates about checking any such 
sacred impulse as lawful love) — I say, though despising the sex in 
general for their conduct to me, I know of particular persons belong- 
ing to it who are worthy of all respect and esteem, and as such I 
beg leave to point out the particular young lady who is perusing 
these lines. Do not, dear madam, then imagine that if I knew you 
I should be disposed to sneer at you. Ah no ! Fitz-Boodle’s bosom 
has tenderer sentiments than from his way of life you would fancy, 
and stern by rule is only too soft by practice. Shall I whisper to 
you the story of one or two of my attachments f All terminating 
fatally (not in death, but in disappointment, which, as it occurred, 
I used to imagine a thousand times more bitter than death, but 
from which one recovers somehow more readily than from the other- 
named complaint) — all, I say, terminating wretchedly to myself, as 
if some fatality pursued my desire to become a domestic character. 

My first love— no, let us pass that over. Sweet one ! thy name 
shall profane no hireling page. Sweet, sweet memory ! Ah, ladies, 
those delicate hearts of yours have, too, felt the throb. And be- 
tween the last ob in the word throb and the words now written, I 
have passed a delicious period of perhaps an hour, perhaps a minute, 
I know not how long, thinking of that holy first love and of her 
who inspired it. How clearly every single incident of the passion is 
remembered by me ! and yet ’twas long long since. I was but a 
child then — a child at school — and, if the truth must be told, L — ra 
R-ggl-s (I would not write her whole name to be made one of the 
Marquess of Hertford’s executors) was a woman full thirteen years 
older than myself ; at the period of which I write she must have 
been at least five-and-twenty. She and her mother used to sell 
* He is five-and-forty, if he is a day old.— 0. Y. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 28 5 

tarts, hard-bake, lollipops, and other such simple comestibles, on 
Wednesdays and Saturdays (half-holidays), at a private school where 
I received the first rudiments of a classical education. I used to go 
and sit before her tray for hours, but I do not think the poor girl 
ever supposed any motive led me so constantly to her little stall 
beyond a vulgar longing for her tarts and her ginger-beer. Yes, even 
at that early period my actions were misrepresented, and the fatality 
which has oppressed my whole life began to show itself, — the 
purest passion was misinterpreted by her and my schoolfellows and 
they thought I was actuated by simple gluttony. They nicknamed 
me Alicompayne. 

Well, be it so. Laugh at early passion ye who will : a high- 
born boy madly in love with a lowly ginger-beer girl ! She married 
afterwards, took the name of Latter, and now keeps with her old 
husband a turnpike, through which I often ride ; but I can recollect 
her bright and rosy of a sunny summer afternoon, her red cheeks 
shaded by a battered straw bonnet, her tarts and ginger-beer upon 
a neat white cloth before her, mending blue worsted stockings until 
the young gentlemen should interrupt her by coming to buy. 

Many persons will call this description low. I do not envy 
them their gentility, and have always observed through life (as, to 
be sure, every other gentleman has observed as well as myself) that 
it is your parvenu who stickles most for what he calls the genteel, 
and has the most squeamish abhorrence for what is frank and 
natural. Let us pass at once, however, as all the world must be 
pleased, to a recital of an affair which occurred in the very best 
circles of society, as they are called, viz., my next unfortunate 
attachment. 

It did not occur for several years after that simple and platonic 
passion just described : for though they may talk of youth as the 
season of romance, it has always appeared to me that there are no 
beings in the world so entirely unromantic and selfish as certain 
young English gentlemen from the age of fifteen to twenty. The 
oldest Lovelace about town is scarcely more hard-hearted and scornful 
than they ; they ape all sorts of selfishness and rouerie : they aim 
at excelling at cricket, at billiards, at rowing, and drinking, and set 
more store by a red coat and a neat pair of top-boots than by any 
other glory. A young fellow staggers into college-chapel of a 
morning, and communicates to all his friends that he was “ so cut 
last night,” with the greatest possible pride. He makes a joke of 
having sisters and a kind mother at home who loves him ; and if 
he speaks of his father, it is with a knowing sneer to say that he 
has a tailor’s and a horse-dealer’s bill that will surprise “ the old 
governor.” He would be ashamed of being in love. I, in common 


28 6 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


with my kind, had these affectations, and my perpetual custom of 
smoking added not a little to my reputation as an accomplished 
rou6. What came of this custom in the army and at college, the 
reader has already heard. Alas ! in life it went no better with me, 
and many pretty chances I had went off in that accursed smoke. 

After quitting the army in the abrupt manner stated, I passed 
some short time at home, and was tolerated by my mother-in-law, 
because I had formed an attachment to a young lady of good con- 
nections and with a considerable fortune, which was really very 
nearly becoming mine. Mary M‘Alister was the only daughter of 
Colonel M‘Alister, late of the Blues, and Lady Susan his wife. Her 
Ladyship was no more ; and, indeed, of no family compared to ours 
(which has refused a peerage any time these two hundred years) ; 
but being an earl’s daughter and a Scotchwoman, Lady Emily Fitz- 
Boodle did not fail to consider her highly. Lady Susan was 
daughter of the late Admiral Earl of Marlingspike and Baron 
Plumduff. The Colonel, Miss M‘Alister’s father, had a good estate, 
of which his daughter was the heiress, and as I fished her out of the 
water upon a pleasure-party, and swam with her to shore, we became 
naturally intimate, and Colonel M‘Alister forgot, on account of the 
service rendered to him, the dreadful reputation for profligacy which 
I enjoyed in the county. 

Well, to cut a long story short, which is told here merely for 
the moral at the end of it, I should have been Fitz-Boodle M £ Alister 
at this minute most probably, and master of four thousand a year, 
but for the fatal cigar-box. I bear Mary no malice in saying that 
she was a high-spirited little girl, loving, before all things, her own 
way ; nay, perhaps I do not, from long habit and indulgence in 
tobacco -smoking, appreciate the delicacy of female organisations, 
which were oftentimes most painfully affected by it. She was a 
keen-sighted little person, and soon found that the world had belied 
poor George Fitz-Boodle ; who, instead of being the cunning monster 
people supposed him to be, was a simple, reckless, good-humoured, 
honest fellow, marvellously addicted to smoking, idleness, and telling 
the truth. She called me Orson, and I was happy enough on the 
14th February, in the year 18 — (it’s of no consequence), to send 
her such a pretty little copy of verses about Orson and Valentine, 
in which the rude habits of the savage man were shown to be over- 
come by the polished graces of his kind and brilliant conqueror, that 
she was fairly overcome, and said to me, “George Fitz-Boodle, if 
you give up smoking for a year, I will marry you.” 

I swore I would, of course, and went home and flung four pounds 
of Hudson’s cigars, two meerschaum pipes that had cost me ten 
guineas at the establishment of Mr. Gattie at Oxford, a tobacco- 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 287 

bag that Lady Fitz-Boodle had given me before her marriage with 
my father (it was the only present that I ever had from her or any 
member of the Flintskinner family), and some choice packets of 
Varinas and Syrian, into the lake in Boodle Park. The weapon 
amongst them all which I most regretted was — will it be believed % 
— the little black doodheen which had been the cause of the quarrel 
between Lord Martingale and me. However, it went along with 
the others. I would not allow my groom to have so much as a 
cigar, lest I should be tempted hereafter ; and the consequence was 
that a few days after many fat carp and tenches in the lake (I must 
confess ’twas no bigger than a pond) nibbled at the tobacco, and 
came floating on their backs on the top of the water quite intoxi- 
cated. My conversion made some noise in the county, being 
emphasised as it were by this fact of the fish. I can’t tell you with 
what pangs I kept my resolution ; but keep it I did for some time. 

With so much beauty and wealth, Mary M ‘ Alister had of course 
many suitors, and among them was the young Lord Dawdley, whose 
mamma has previously been described in her gown of red satin. 
As I used to thrash Dawdley at school, I thrashed him in after-life 
in love ; he put up with his disappointment pretty well, and came 
after a while and shook hands with me, telling me of the bets that 
there were in the county, where the whole story was known, for 
and against me. For the fact is, as I must own, that Mary 
M ‘Alister, the queerest, frankest of w'omen, made no secret of the 
agreement, or the cause of it. 

“ I did not care a penny for Orson,” she said, “ but he would 
go on writing me such dear pretty verses that at last I couldn’t 
help saying yes. But if he breaks his promise to me, I declare, 
upon my honour, I’ll break mine, and nobody’s heart will be broken 
either.” 

This was the perfect fact, as I must confess, and I declare that 
it w^as only because she amused me and delighted me, and provoked 
me, and made me laugh very much, and because, no doubt, she was 
very rich, that I had any attachment for her. 

“For Heaven’s sake, George,” my father said to me, as I 
quitted home to follow my beloved to London, “remember that 
you are a younger brother and have a lovely girl and four thousand 
a year within a year’s reach of you. Smoke as much as you like, 
my boy, after marriage,” added the old gentleman knowingly (as 
if he, honest soul, after his second marriage, dared drink an extra 
pint of wine without my Lady’s permission !), “ but eschew the 
tobacco-shops till then.” 

I went to London resolving to act upon the paternal advice, 
and oh ! how I longed for the day when I should be married, 


288 THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

vowing in my secret soul that I would light a cigar as I walked 
out of St. George’s, Hanover Square. 

Well, I came to London, and so carefully avoided smoking that 
I would not even go into Hudson’s shop to pay his bill, and as 
smoking was not the fashion then among young men as (thank 
Heaven !) it is now, I had not many temptations from my friend’s 
examples in my clubs or elsewhere; only little Dawdley began to 
smoke, as if to spite me. He had never done so before, but con- 
fessed — the rascal ! — that he enjoyed a cigar now, if it were but 
to mortify me. But I took to other and more dangerous excite- 
ments, and upon the nights when not in attendance upon Mary 
M‘Alister, might be found in very dangerous proximity to a polished 
mahogany table, round which claret-bottles circulated a great deal 
too often, or worse still, to a table covered with green cloth and 
ornamented with a couple of wax-candles and a couple of packs of 
cards, and four gentlemen playing the enticing game of whist. 
Likewise, I came to carry a snuff-box, and to consume in secret 
huge quantities of rappee. 

For ladies’ society I was even then disinclined, hating and de- 
spising small-talk, and dancing, and hot routs, and vulgar scrambles 
for suppers. I never could understand the pleasure of acting the 
part of lacquey to a dowager, and standing behind her chair, or 
bustling through the crowd for her carriage. I always found an 
opera too long by two acts, and have repeatedly fallen asleep in 
the presence of Mary M‘Alister herself, sitting at the back of the 
box shaded by the huge beret of her old aunt, Lady Betty Plum- 
duff; and many a time has Dawdley, with Miss M‘Alister on his 
arm, wakened me up at the close of the entertainment in time to 
offer my hand to Lady Betty, and lead the ladies to their carriage. 
If I attended her occasionally to any ball or party of pleasure, I 
went, it must be confessed, with clumsy ill-disguised ill-humour. 
Good heavens ! have I often and often thought in the midst of a 
song, or the very thick of a ballroom, can people prefer this to a 
book and a sofa, and a dear, dear cigar-box, from thy stores, 0 
charming Mariana Woodville ! Deprived of my favourite plant, I 
grew sick in mind and body, moody, sarcastic, and discontented. 

Such a state of things could not long continue, nor could Miss 
M‘Alister continue to have much attachment for such a sullen ill- 
conditioned creature as I then was. She used to make me wild 
with her wit and her sarcasm, nor have I ever possessed the readi- 
ness to parry or reply to those fine points of woman’s wit, and 
she treated me the more mercilessly as she saw that I could not 
resist her. 

Well, the polite reader must remember a great fete that was 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 289 

given at B House, some years back, in honour of his Highness 

the Hereditary Prince of Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel, who was then 
in London on a visit to his illustrious relatives. It was a fancy 
ball, and the poems of Scott being at that time all the fashion, 
Mary was to appear in the character of the “ Lady of the Lake,” 
old McAlister making a very tall and severe - looking harper; 
Dawdley, a most insignificant Fitzjames ; and your humble servant 

a stalwart manly Roderick Dhu. We were to meet at B 

House at twelve o’clock, and as I had no fancy to drive through 
the town in my cab dressed in a kilt and philibeg, I agreed to take 
a seat in Dawdley’s carriage, and to dress at his house in Mayfair. 
At eleven I left a very pleasant bachelors’ party, growling to quit 
them and the honest jovial claret bottle, in order to scrape and cut 
capers like a harlequin from the theatre. When I arrived at 
Dawdley’s, I mounted to a dressing-room, and began to array 
myself in my cursed costume. 

The art of costuming was by no means so well understood in 
those days as it has been since, and mine was out of all correct- 
ness. I was made to sport an enormous plume of black ostrich- 
feathers, such as never was worn by any Highland chief, and had 
a huge tiger-skin sporran to dangle like an apron before innumer- 
able yards of plaid petticoat. The tartan cloak was outrageously hot 
and voluminous ; it was the dog-days ; and all these things I was 
condemned to wear in the midst of a crowd of a thousand people ! 

Dawdley sent up word, as I was dressing, that his dress had 
not arrived, and he took my cab and drove off in a rage to his 
tailor. 

There was no hurry, I thought, to make a fool of myself ; so 
having put on a pair of plaid trews, and very neat pumps with 
shoe-buckles, my courage failed me as to the rest of the dress, and 
taking down one of his dressing-gowns, I went downstairs to the 
study, to wait until he should arrive. 

The windows of the pretty room were open, and a snug sofa, 
with innumerable cushions, drawn towards one of them. A great 
tranquil moon was staring into the chamber, in which stood, amidst 
books and all sorts of bachelor’s lumber, a silver tray with a couple 
of tall Venice glasses, and a bottle of Maraschino bound with straw. 
I can see now the twinkle of the liquor in the moonshine, as I 
poured it into the glass ; and I swallowed two or three little cups 
of it, for my spirits were downcast. Close to the tray of Maras- 
chino stood — must I say it h — a box, a mere box of cedar, bound 
rudely together with pink paper, branded with the name of 
“ Hudson ” on the side, and bearing on the cover the arms of Spain. 
I thought I would just take up the box and look in it. 

4 


T 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


290 

All Heaven ! there they were — a hundred and fifty of them, in 
calm comfortable rows : lovingly side by side they lay, with the 
great moon shining down upon them — thin at the tip, full in the 
waist, elegantly round and full, a little spot here and there shining 
upon them — beauty spots upon the cheek of Sylvia. The house 
was quite quiet. Dawdley always smoked in his room ; — I had 
not smoked for four months and eleven days. 


When Lord Dawdley came into the study, he did not make any 
remarks ; and oh, how easy my heart felt ! He was dressed in his 
green and boots, after Westall’s picture, correctly. 

“ It’s time to be off, George,” said he ; “ they told me you were 
dressed long ago. Come up, my man, and get ready.” 

I rushed up into the dressing-room, and madly dashed my head 
and arms into a pool of eau-de-cologne. I drank, I believe, a 
tumblerful of it. I called for my clothes, and strange to say, they 
were gone. My servant brought them, however, saying that he 
had put them away — making some stupid excuse. I put them on, 
not heeding them much, for I was half tipsy with the excitement 

of the ci of the smo — of what had taken place in Dawdley’s 

study, and with the Maraschino and the eau-de-cologne I had 
drunk. 

“ What a fine odour of lavender-water ! ” said Dawdley, as we 
rode in the carriage. 

I put my head out of the window and shrieked out a laugh ; 
but made no other reply. 

“ What’s the joke, George 1 ” said Dawdley. “ Did I say any- 
thing witty 1 ” 

“Ho,” cried I, yelling still more wildly; “ nothing more witty 
than usual.” 

“Don’t be severe, George,” said he, with a mortified air; and 
we drove on to B House. 


There must have been something strange and wild in my 
appearance, and those awful black plumes, as I passed through 
the crowd; for I observed people looking and making a strange 
nasal noise (it is called sniffing, and I have no other more delicate 
term for it), and making way as I pushed on. But I moved for- 
ward very fiercely, for the wine, the Maraschino, the eau-de-cologne, 
and the — the excitement had rendered me almost wild; and at 
length I arrived at the place where my lovely Lady of the Lake 
and her Harper stood. How beautiful she looked,— all eyes were 
upon her as she stood blushing. When, she saw me, however, her 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


291 


countenance assumed an appearance of alarm. “Good heavens, 
George ! ” • she said, stretching her hand to me, “ what makes you 
look so wild and pale ? ” I advanced, and was going to take her 
hand, when she dropped it with a scream. 

“ Ah— ah — ah ! ” she said. “ Mr. Fitz-Boodle, you’ve been 
smoking ! ” 

There was an immense laugh from four hundred people round 
about us, and the scoundrelly Dawdley joined in the yell. I rushed 
furiously out, and, as I passed, hurtled over the fat Hereditary 
Prince of Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel. 

“ Es riecht hier ungeheuer stark von Tabak ! ” I heard his 
Highness say, as I madly flung myself through the aides-de-camp. 

The next day Mary M‘Alister, in a note full of the most odious 
good sense and sarcasm, reminded me of our agreement ; said that 
she w T as quite convinced that we were not by any means fitted 
for one another, and begged me to consider myself henceforth quite 
free. The little wretch had the impertinence to send me a dozen 
boxes of cigars, which, she said, would console me for my lost 
love; as she was perfectly certain that I was not mercenary, and 
that I loved tobacco better than any woman in the world. 

I believe she was right, though I have never to this day 
been able to pardon the scoundrelly stratagem by which Dawdley 
robbed me of a wife and won one himself. As I was lying on his 
sofa, looking at the moon and lost in a thousand happy con- 
templations, Lord Dawdley, returning from the tailor’s, saw me 
smoking at my leisure. On entering his dressing-room, a horrible 
treacherous thought struck him. “ I must not betray my friend,” 
said he; “but in love all is fair, and he shall betray himself.” 
There were my tartans, my cursed feathers, my tiger-skin sporran 
upon the sofa. 

He called up my groom; he made the rascal put on all my 
clothes, and, giving him a guinea and four cigars, bade him lock 
himself into the little pantry and smoke them without talcing the 
clothes off. John did so, and was very ill in consequence, and so 

when I came to B House, my clothes were redolent of tobacco, 

and I lost lovely Mary M‘Alister. 

I am godfather to one of Lady Dawdley’s boys, and hers is 
the only house where I am allowed to smoke unmolested ; but I 
have never been able to admire Dawdley, a sly, sournois, spiritless, 
lily-livered fellow, that took his name off all his clubs the year he 
married. 


MISS LOWE 


INNA LOWE was the daughter of Moses Lowe, banker 



at Bonn. I passed through the town last year, fifteen years 


I * * after the events I am about to relate, and heard that Moses 
was imprisoned for forgery and fraudulent bankruptcy. He merited 
the punishment which the merciful Prussian law inflicted on him. 

Minna was the most beautiful creature that my eyes ever 
lighted on. Sneer not, ye Christian maidens; but the fact was 
so. I saw her for the first time seated at a window covered with 
golden vine-leaves, with grapes just turning to purple, and tendrils 
twisting in the most fantastical arabesques. The leaves cast a 
pretty chequered shadow over her sweet face, and the simple, thin, 
white muslin gown in which she was dressed. She had bare white 
arms, and a blue ribbon confined her little waist. She was knit- 
ting, as all German women do, whether of the Jewish sort or 
otherwise; and in the shadow of the room sat her sister Emma, 
a powerful woman with a powerful voice. Emma was at the 
piano, singing, “ Herz, mein Hcrz, warum so trau-au-rig,” — singing 
much out of tune. 

I had come to change one of Coutts’s circulars at Lowe’s bank, 
and was looking for the door of the caisse. 

“ Links, mein Herr ! ” said Minna Lowe, making the gentlest 
inclination with her pretty little head ; and blushing ever so little, 
and raising up tenderly a pair of heavy blue eyes, and then 
dropping them again, overcome by the sight of the stranger. And 
no wonder; I was a sight worth contemplating then, — I had 
golden hair which fell gracefully over my shoulders, and a slim 
waist (where are you now, slim waist and golden hair?), and a 
pair of brown mustachios that curled gracefully under a firm 
Roman nose, and a tuft to my chin that could not but vanquish 
any woman. “ Links, mein Herr,” said lovely Minna Lowe. 

That little word links dropped upon my wounded soul like 
balm. There is nothing in links ; it is not a pretty word. Minna 
Lowe simply told me to turn to the left, when I was debating 
between that side and its opposite, in order to find the cash-room 
door. Any other person might have said links (or rechts for that 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 293 

matter), and would not have made the slightest impression upon 
me ; but Minna’s full red lips, as they let slip the monosyllable, 
wore a smile so tender, and uttered it with such inconceivable 
sweetness, that I was overcome at once. “ Sweet bell ! ” I could 
have said, “ tinkle that dulcet note for ever, — links, clinks, linx ! 
I love the chime. It soothes and blesses me.” All this I could 
have said, and much more, had I had my senses about me, and 
had I been a proficient in the German language ; but I could not 
speak, both from ignorance and emotion. I blushed, stuttered, 
took off my cap, made an immensely foolish bow, and began forth- 
with fumbling at the door handle. 

The reason why I have introduced the name of this siren is 
to show that if tobacco in a former unlucky instance has proved 
my enemy, in the present case it was my firmest friend. I, the 
descendant of the Norman Fitz-Boodle, the relative of kings and 
emperors, might, but for tobacco, have married the daughter of 
Moses Lowe, the Jew forger and convict of Bonn. I would have 
done it ; for I hold the man a slave who calculates in love, and 
who thinks about prudence when his heart is in question. Men 
marry their cookmaids and the world looks down upon them. 
Ne sit ancillce amor pudori ! I exclaim with a notorious poet, 
if you heartily and entirely love your cookmaid, you are a fool 
and a coward not to wed her. What more can you want than 
to have your heart filled up ? Can a duchess do more ? You talk 
of the difference of rank and the decencies of society. Away, sir ! 
love is divine, and knows not your paltry worldly calculations. 
It is not love you worship, 0 heartless silly calculator ! it is the 
interest of thirty thousand pounds in the Three-per-Cents., and the 
blessing of a genteel mother-in-law in Harley Street, and the in- 
effable joy of snug dinners, and the butler behind your chair. 
Fool ! love is eternal, butlers and mothers-in-law are perishable : 
you have but the enjoyment of your Three-per-Cents. for forty 
years; and then , what do they avail you? But if you believe 
that she whom you choose, and to whom your heart clings, is to 
be your soul’s companion, not now merely, but for ever and ever ; 
then what a paltry item of money or time has deterred you from 
your happiness, what a miserable penny-wise economist you have 
been ! 

And here, if, as a man of the world, I might be allowed to give 
advice to fathers and mothers of families, it would be this : young 
men fall in love with people of a lower rank, and they are not strong 
enough to resist the dread of disinheritance, or of the world’s scorn, 
or of the cursed tyrant gentility, and dare not marry the woman they 
love above all. But, if prudence is strong, passion is strong too, and 


294 THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

principle is not, and women (Heaven keep them !) are weak. We 
all know what happens then. Prudent papas and mammas say, 
“George will sow his wild oats soon, he will be tired of that odious 
woman one day, and we’ll get a good marriage for him : meanwhile 
it is best to hush the matter up and pretend to know nothing about 
it.” But suppose George does the only honest thing in his power, 
and marries the woman he loves above all ; then what a cry you 
have from parents and guardians, what shrieks from aunts and sisters, 
what excommunications and disinheriting ! “ What a weak fool 

George is ! ” say his male friends in the clubs ; and no hand of sym- 
pathy is held out to poor Mrs. George, who is never forgiven, but 
shunned like a plague, and sneered at by a relentless pharisaical 
world until death sets her free. As long as she is unmarried , 
avoid her if you will ; but as soon as she is married, go ! be kind 
to her, and comfort her, and pardon and forget if you can ! And 
lest some charitable people should declare that I am setting up 
here an apology for vice, let me here, and by the way of' precaution, 
flatly contradict them, and declare that I only would offer a %>lea 
for marriage. 

But where has Minna Lowe been left during this page of dis- 
quisition 1 ? Gazing through a sunny cluster of vine-leaves upon a 
young and handsome stranger, of noble face and exquisite proportions, 
who was trying to find the door of her father’s bank. That entrance 
being through her amiable directions discovered, I entered and found 
Messrs. Moses and Solomon Lowe in the counting-house, Herr 
Solomon being the son of Moses, and head clerk or partner in the 
business. That I was cheated in my little matter of exchange 
stands to reason. A Jew banker (or such as I have had the honour 
to know) cannot forego the privilege of cheating ; no, if it be but 
for a shilling. What do I say,— a shilling? — a penny ! He will 
cheat you, in the first place, in the exchanging your note ; he will 
then cheat you in giving gold for your silver; and though very 
likely he will invite you to a splendid repast afterwards that shall 
have cost him a score of thalers to procure, he will have had the 
satisfaction of robbing you of your groschen , as no doubt he would 
rob his own father or son. 

Herr Moses Lowe must have been a very sharp Israelite, indeed, 
to rob Herr Solomon, or vice versd. The poor fellows are both in 
prison for a matter of forgery, as I heard last year when passing 
through Bonn ; and I confess it was not without a little palpitation 
of the heart (it is a sausage-merchant’s now) that I went and took 
one look at the house where I had at first beheld the bright eyes of 
Minna Lowe. 

For let them say as they will, that woman whom a man has once 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 295 

loved cannot be the same to him as another. Whenever one of my 
passions comes into a room, my cheeks flush, — my knees tremble, — I 
look at her with pleased tenderness and (for the objects of my adora- 
tion do not once in forty times know their good fortune) with melan- 
choly secret wonder. There they are, the same women, and yet not 
the same ; it is the same nose and eyes, if you will, but not the 
same looks ; the same voice, but not the same sweet words as of 
old. The figure moves, and looks and talks to you ; you know how 
dear and how different its speech and actions once were ; ’tis the 
hall with all the lights put out and the garlands dead (as I have said 
in one of niy poems). Did you ever have a pocket-book that once 
contained five thousand pounds ? Did you ever look at that pocket- 
book with the money lying in it? Do you remember how you 
respected and admired that pocket-book, investing it with a secret 
awe, imagining it had a superiority to other pocket-books ? I have 
such a pocket-book ; I keep it now, and often look at it rather 
tenderly. It cannot be as other portfolios to me. I remember that 
it once held five thousand pounds. 

Thus it is with love. I have empty pocket-books scattered all 
over Europe of this kind ; and I always go and look at them just 
for a moment, and the spirit flies back to days gone by ; kind eyes 
look at me as of yore, and echoes of old gentle voices fall tenderly 
upon the ear. Away ! to the true heart the past never is past ; 
and some day when Death has cleared our dull faculties, and past 
and future shall be rolled into one, we shall. . . . 

“ Well, you were quite right, my good sir, to interrupt me ; I 
can’t help it, I am too apt to grow sentimental, and always on the 
most absurd pretexts. I never know when the fit will come on 
me, or a propos of what. I never was so jolly in my whole life as 
one day coming home from a funeral ; and once went to a masked 
ball at Paris, the gaiety of which made me so profoundly miserable, 
that, egad ! I wept like Xerxes (wasn’t that the fellow’s name ?), 
and was sick — sick at heart. This premised, permit me, my friend, 
to indulge in sentiment a, propos, of Minna Lowe ; for three weeks, 
at least, I adored the wench, and could give any person curious that 
way a complete psychological history of the passion’s rise, progress, 
and decay • — decay, indeed, why do I say decay ? A man does not 
“ decay ” when he tumbles down a well, he drowns there ; so is love 
choked sometimes by abrupt conclusions, falls down wells, and, oh, 
the dismal truth at the bottom of them ! 

“ If, my Lord,” said Herr Moses, counting out the gold fredericks 
to me, “you intend to shtay in our town, I hope my daughtersh 
and I vill have shometimesh de pleashure of your high veil-born 
shoshiety ? ” 


296 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


“The town is a most delightful one, Mr. Lowe,” answered I. 
“ I am myself an Oxford man, and exceedingly interested about — 
ahem — about the Byzantine historians, of which I see the University 
is producing an edition ; and I shall make I think a considerable 
stay.” Heaven bless us ! ’twas Miss Minna’s eyes that had done 
the business. But for them I should have slept at Coblentz that 
very night ; where, by the way, the Hotel de la Poste is one of the 
very best inns in Europe. 

A friend had accompanied me to Bonn, — a jolly dragoon, -who 
was quite versed in the German language, having spent some time 
in the Austrian service before he joined us ; or in the “ Awthtwian 
thervith,” as he would call it, with a double distilled gentility of 
accent, very difficult to be acquired out of Regent Street. We had 
quarrelled already thrice on the passage from England — viz., at 
Rotterdam, at Cologne, and once here; so that when he said he 
intended to go to Mayence, I at once proclaimed that I intended to 
stay where I was ; and, with Miss Minna Lowe’s image in my 
heart, went out and selected lodgings for myself as near as possible 
to her father’s house. Wilder said I might go to — any place I 
liked ; he remained in his quarters at the hotel, as I found a couple 
of days afterwards, when I saw the fellow smoking at the gateway 
in the company of a score of Prussian officers, with whom he had 
made acquaintance. 

I for my part have never been famous for that habit of extem- 
poraneous friendship-making which some lucky fellows possess. 
Like most of my countrymen, when I enter a room I always take 
care to look about with an air as if I heartily despised every one, 
and wanted to know what the d — 1 they did there ! Among 
foreigners I feel this especially ; for the truth is, right or wrong, I 
can’t help despising the rogues, and feeling manifestly my own 
superiority. In consequence of this amiable quality, then (in this 
particular instance of my life), I gave up the table-d’hote dinner at 
the “ Star ” as something low and ungentlemanlike, made a point of 
staring and not answering when people spoke to me, and thus I 
have no doubt impressed all the world with a sense of my dignity. 
Instead of dining at the public place, then, I took my repasts alone; 
though, as Wilder said with some justice, though with a good deal 
too much laisser-aller of tongue, “You gweat fool, if it’th only 
becauth you want to be thilent, why don’t you thtill dine with uth? 
You’ll get a wegular good dinner inthtead of a bad one ; and ath for 
thpeahing to you, depend on it every man in the room will thee 
you hanged futht ! ” 

“ Pray allow me to dine in my own w T ay, Wilder,” says I, in 
the most dignified way. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 297 

“Dine and be d d!” said the lieutenant, and so I lived 

solitary and had my own way. 

I proposed to take some German lessons ; and for this purpose 
asked the banker, Mr. Lowe, to introduce me to a master. He 
procured one, a gentleman of his own persuasion ; and, further, had 
the kindness to say that his clerk, Mr. Hirsch, should come and sit 
with me every morning and perfect me in the tongue ; so that, with 
the master I had and the society I kept, I might acquire a very 
decent German pronunciation. 

This Hirsch was a little Albino of a creature with pinkish eyes, 
white hair, flame-coloured whiskers, and earrings. His eyes jutted 
out enormously from his countenance, as did his two large swollen 
red lips, which had the true Israelitish coarseness. He was always, 
after a short time, in and out of my apartments. He brought a 
dozen messages and ran as many errands for me in the course of 
the day. My way of addressing him was, “ Hirsch, you scoundrel, 
get my boots ! ” “ Hirsch, my Levite, brush my coat for me ! ” 

“ Run, you stag of Israel, and put this letter in the post ! ” and 
w T ith many similar compliments. The little rascal was, to do him 
justice, as willing as possible, never minded by what name I called 
him, and, above all,— came from Minna. He was not the rose; 
no, indeed, nor anything like it; but, as the poet says, “he had 
lived beside it;” and was there in all Sharon such a rose as 
Minna Lowe 1 

If I did not write with a moral purpose, and because my unfortu- 
nate example may act wholesomely upon other young men of fashion, 
and induce them to learn wisdom, I should not say a single syllable 
about Minna Lowe, nor all the blunders I committed, nor the 
humiliation I suffered. There is about a young Englishman of 
twenty a degree of easy self-confidence, hardly possessed even by a 
Frenchman. The latter swaggers and bullies about his superiority, 
taking all opportunities to shriek it into your ears, and to proclaim 
the infinite merits of himself and his nation ; but, upon my word, 
the bragging of the Frenchman is not so conceited or intolerable as 
that calm, silent, contemptuous conceit of us young Britons, who 
think our superiority so well established that it is really not worth 
arguing upon, and who take upon us to despise thoroughly the 
whole world through which we pass. We are hated on the 
Continent, they say, and no wonder. If any other nation were to 
attempt to domineer over us as we do over Europe, we would hate 
them as heartily and furiously as many a Frenchman and Italian 
does us. 

Now when I went abroad I fancied myself one of the finest 
fellows under the sun. I patronised a banker’s dinners as if I did 


298 THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

him honour in eating them ; I took my place before grave professors 
and celebrated men, and talked vapid nonsense to them in infamous 
French, laughing heartily in return at their own manner of pro- 
nouncing that language. I set down as a point beyond question 
that their customs were inferior to our own, and would not in the 
least scruple, in a calm way, to let my opinion be known. What 
an agreeable young fellow I must have been ! 

With these opinions, and my pleasant way of expressing them, 
I would sit for hours by the side of lovely Minna Lowe, ridiculing, 
with much of that elegant satire for which the English are remark- 
able, every one of the customs of the country, — the dinners, with 
the absurd un-English pudding in the very midst of them ; the 
dresses of the men, with their braided coats and great seal-rings. 
As for little Hirsch, he formed the constant subject of my raillery 
with Mademoiselle Minna ; and I gave it as my fixed opinion, that 
he was only fit to sell sealing-wax and oranges to the coaches in 
Piccadilly. 

“ 0 fous afez tant d’esprit, fous autres jeunes Anglais,” would 
she say ; and I said, “ Oui, nous avons beaucoup d’esprit, beaucoup 
plus que les Allemands,” with the utmost simplicity; and then 
would half close my eyes, and give her a look that I thought must 
kill her. 

Shall I tell the result of our conversation? In conversation 1, 
Minna asked me if I did not think the tea remarkably good, with 
which she and her sister treated me. She said it came over- 
land from China, that her papa’s correspondent at Petersburg for- 
warded it to them, and that no such tea was to be had in Germany. 
On this I seriously believed the tea to be excellent; and next 
morning at breakfast little Hirsch walked smirking into my room, 
with a parcel of six pounds of Congo, for which I had the honour 
of paying eighteen Prussian thalers, being two pounds fourteen 
shillings of our money. 

The next time I called, Herr Moses insisted on regaling me with 
a glass of Cyprus wine. His brother Lowe of Constantinople w T as 
the only person in the world who possessed this precious liquor. 
Four days afterwards Lowe came to know how I liked the Cyprus 
wine which I had ordered, and would I like another dozen ? On 
saying that I had not ordered any, that I did not like sweet wine, 
he answered, “ Pardon ! ” it had been in my cellar three days, and 
he would send some excellent Mddoc at a moderate price, and 
would take no refusal. A basket of M&loc came that very night 
in my absence, with a bill directed to the “High Well-born Count 
von Fitz-Boodle.” This excessive desire of the Lowe family to 
serve me made me relax my importunities somewhat. “ Ah ! ” says 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 299 

Minna, with a sigh, the next time I saw her, “ have we offended 
you, Herr George ? You don’t come to see us any more now ! ” 

“ I’ll come to-morrow,” says I ; and she gave me a look and a 
smile which, oh ! — “ I am a fool, I know I am ! ” as the honourable 
member for Montrose said t’other day. And was not Samson ditto ? 
Was not Hercules another? Next day she was seated at the vine- 
leaves as I entered the court. She smiled, and then retreated. 
She had been on the look-out for me, I knew she had. She held 
out her little hand to me as I came into the room. Oh, how soft it 
was and how round ! and with a little apricot-coloured glove that — 
that I have to this day ! I had been arranging a little compliment 
as I came along, something quite new and killing. I had only the 
heart to say, “ Es ist sehr warm.” 

“ Oh, Herr George ! ” says she ; “ Lieber Herr George, what 
a progress have you made in German ! You speak it like a 
native ! ” 

But somehow I preferred to continue the conversation in French ; 
and it was made up, as I am bound to say, of remarks equally 
brilliant and appropriate with that one above given. When old 
Lowe came in I was winding a skein of silk, seated in an enticing 
attitude, gazing with all my soul at Delilah, who held down her 
beautiful eyes. 

That day they did not sell me any bargains at all ; and the next 
found me, you may be very sure, in the same parlour again, where, 
in his schlafrock, the old Israelite was smoking his pipe. 

“Get away, papa,” said Minna, “English lords can’t bear 
smoke. I’m sure Herr George dislikes it.” 

Indeed, I smoke occasionally myself,” answered your humble 
servant. 

“ Get his Lordship a pipe, Minna, my soul’s darling ! ” exclaimed 
the banker. 

“ Oh yes ! the beautiful long Turkish one,” cried Minna, spring- 
ing up, and presently returned bearing a long cherry-stick covered 
with a scarlet and gold cloth, at one end an enamelled amber 
mouthpiece, a gilded pipe at the other. In she came dancing, wand 
in hand, and looking like a fairy ! 

“ Stop ! ” she said ; “ I must light it for Herr George.” (By 
Jupiter ! there was a way that girl had of pronouncing my name, 
“George,” which I never heard equalled before or since.) And 
accordingly, bidding her sister get fire, she put herself in the prettiest 
attitude ever seen : with one little foot put forward, and her head 
thrown back, and a little hand holding the pipe-stick between finger 
and thumb, and a pair of red lips kissing the amber mouthpiece 
with the sweetest smile ever mortal saw. Her sister, giggling, 


300 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


lighted the tobacco, and presently you saw issuing from between 
those beautiful, smiling, red lips of Minna’s a little curling, graceful 
white smoke, which rose soaring up to the ceiling. I swear, I felt 
quite faint with the fragrance of it. 

When the pipe was lighted, she brought it to me with quite as 

pretty an attitude and a glance that Psha ! I gave old Moses 

Lowe fourteen pounds sterling for that pipe that very evening ; and 
as for the mouthpiece, I would not part with it away from me, but 
I wrapped it up in a glove that I took from the table, and put both 
into my breast-pocket; and next morning when Charley Wilder 
burst suddenly into my room, he found me sitting up in bed in a 
green silk nightcap, a little apricot-coloured glove lying on the 
counterpane before me, your humble servant employed in mumbling 
the mouthpiece as if it were a bit of barley-sugar. 

He stopped, stared, burst into a shriek of laughter, and made 
a rush at the glove on the counterpane ; but, in a fury, I sent a 
large single-volumed Tom Moore (I am not a poetical man, but 
I must confess I was reading some passages in “ Lalla Rookh” 
that I found applicable to my situation) — I sent, I say, a Tom 
Moore at his head, which, luckily, missed him; and to which he 
responded by seizing a bolster and thumping me outrageously. 
It was lucky that he was a good-natured fellow, and had only 
resorted to that harmless weapon, for I was in such a fury that 
I certainly would have murdered him at the least insult. 

I did not murder him then ; but if he peached a single word 
upon the subject, I swore I would, and Wilder knew I was a 
man of my word. He was not unaware of my tendre for Minna 
Lowe, and was for passing some of his delicate light-dragoon jokes 
upon it and her ; but these, too, I sternly cut short. 

“ Why, cuth me, if I don’t think you want to mawwy her ! ” 
blurted out Wilder. 

“Well, sir,” said I, “and suppose I do 1 ?” 

“ What ! mawwy the daughter of that thwindling old clothe- 
man 1 ? I tell you what, Fitth-Boodle, they alwayth thaid you 
were mad in the weg’ment, and, run me thwougli, if I don’t 
think you are.” 

“The man,” says I, “sir, who would address Mademoiselle 
Lowe in any but an honourable way is a scoundrel ; and the man 
who says a word against her character is a liar ! ” 

After a little further parley (which Wilder would not have 
continued but that he wanted to borrow money of me), that 
gentleman retired, declaring that “I watli ath thulky ath a bear 
with a thaw head,” and left me to my apricot-coloured glove and 
my amber mouthpiece. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 301 

Wilder’s assertion that I was going to act up to opinions which 
I had always professed, and to marry Minna Lowe, certainly 
astounded me, and gave me occasion for thought. Marry the 
daughter of a Jew banker ! I, George Fitz-Boodle ! That would 
never do ; not unless she had a million to her fortune, at least, 
and it was not probable that a humble dealer at Bonn could give 
her so much. But, marry her or not, I could not refrain from 
the sweet pleasure of falling in love with her, and shut my eyes 
to the morrow that I might properly enjoy the day. Shortly 
after Wilder’s departure, little Hirsch paid his almost daily visit 
to me. I determined — and wondered that I had never thought 
of the scheme before — sagely to sound him regarding Minna’s for- 
tune, and to make use of him as my letter and message carrier. 

“Ah, Hirsch! my lion of Judah!” says I, “you have brought 
me the pipe-stick, have you 1 ” 

“Yes, my Lord, and seven pounds of the tobacco you said you 
liked. ’Tis real Syrian, and a great bargain you get it, I promise.” • 

“ Egad ! ” replied I, affecting an air of much careless ingenuous- 
ness. “ Do you know, Hirsch, my boy, that the youngest of the 
Miss Lowes — Miss Anna, I think you call her ” 

“ Minna,” said Hirsch, with a grin. 

“Well, Minna — Minna, Hirsch, is a devilish line girl; upon my 
soul now, she is.” 

“ Do you really think so ? ” says Hirsch. 

“ ’Pon my honour, I do. And yesterday, when she was lighting 
the pipe-stick, she looked so confoundedly handsome that I — I 
quite fell in love with her ; really I did.” 

“Ho! Yell, you do our people great honour, I’m sure,” 
answered Hirsch. 

“ Father a warm man ? ” 

“ Varm ! How do you mean varm 1 ” 

“Why, rich . We call a rich man warm in England; only 
you don’t understand the language. How much will he give 
his daughter h ” 

“ Oh ! very little. Not a veek of your income, my Lord,” 
said Hirsch. 

“Pooh, pooh! You always talk of me as if I’m rich; but I 
tell you I am poor— exceedingly poor.” 

“ Go away vid you ! ” said Hirsch incredulously. “ You poor ! 
I vish I had a year of your income ; that I do ” (and I have no 
doubt he did, or of the revenue of any one else). “ I’d be a rich 
man, and have de best house in Bonn.” 

“ Are you so very poor yourself, Hirsch, that you talk in this 
way h ” asked I. 


302 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


To which the young Israelite replied, that he had not one 
dollar to rub against another : that Mr. Lowe was a close man ; 
and finally (upon my pressing the point, like a cunning dog as I 
was !), that he would do anything to earn a little money. 

“ Hirsch,” said I, like a wicked young reprobate and Don Juan, 
“ will you carry a letter to Miss Minna Lowe ? ” 

Now there was no earthly reason why I should have made a 
twopenny postman of Mr. Hirsch. I might with just as much 
ease have given Minna the letter myself. I saw her daily and for 
hours, and it would be hard if I could not find her for a minute 
alone, or at least slip a note into her glove or pocket-handkerchief, 
if secret the note must be. But, I don’t mind owning it, I was 
as ignorant of any love-making which requires mystery as any 
bishop on the bench, and pitched upon Hirsch, as it were, because 
in comedies and romances that I had read the hero has always a 
go-between — a valet, or humble follower — who performs the intrigue 
of the piece. So I asked Hirsch the above question, “Would he 
carry a letter to Miss Minna Lowe ? ” 

“Give it me,” said he, with a grin. 

But the deuce of it was, it wasn’t written. Rosina, in the 
opera, has hers ready in her pocket, and says “ Eccolo quk ” when 
Figaro makes the same request, so I told Hirsch that I would get 
it ready. And a very hard task I found it too, in sitting down 
to compose the document. It shall be in verse, thought I, for 
Minna understands some English ; but there is no rhyme to Minna, 
as everybody knows, except a cockney, who might make “ thinner, 
dinner, winner,” &c., answer to it. And as for Lowe, it is just as 
bad. Then it became, as I thought, my painful duty to send her 
a note in French ; and in French finally it was composed, and I 
blush now when I think of the nonsense and bad grammar it con- 
tained — the conceit above all. The easy vulgar assurance of victory 
with which I, a raw lad from the stupidest country in Europe, 
assailed one of the most beautiful women in the world ! 

Hirsch took the letter, and to bribe the fellow to silence, I 
agreed to purchase a great hideous amethyst brooch, which he had 
offered me a dozen times for sale, and which I had always refused 
till now. He said it had been graciously received, but as all the 
family were present in the evening when I called, of course no 
allusion could be made to the note; but I thought Minna looked 
particularly kind, as I sat and lost a couple of fredericks at ecarte 
to a very stout Israelite lady, Madame Lowe, junior, the wife of 
Monsieur Solomon Lowe. I think it was on this night, or the 
next, that I was induced to purchase a bale of remarkably fine lawn 
for shirts, for old Lowe had everything to sell, as is not uncommon 


303 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 

with men of his profession and persuasion ; and had I expressed a 
fancy for a coffin or a hod of mortar, I have no doubt Hirsch would 
have had it at my door next morning. 

I went on sending letters to Minna, copying them out of a 
useful little work called “ Le Petit S^crdtaire Fran^ais,” and easily 
adapting them to circumstances, by altering a phrase here and 
there. Day and night I used to dangle about the house. It was 
provoking, to be sure, that Minna was never alone now ; her sister 
or Madame Solomon was always with her, and as they naturally 
spoke German, of which language I knew but few words, my 
evenings., were passed in sighing, ogling, and saying nothing. I 
must have been a very charming companion. One evening was 
pretty much like another. Four or five times in the week old 
Lowe would drop in and sell me a bargain. Berlin-iron chains and 
trinkets for my family at home, Naples soap, a case of eau-de- 
cologne ; a beautiful dressing-gown, lined with fur for the winter; 
a rifle, one of the famous Frankfort make ; a complete collection 
of the German classics; and finally, to my awful disgust, a set of 
the Byzantine historians. 

I must tell you that, although my banking friend had furnished 
me with half a stone of Syrian tobacco from his brother at 
Constantinople, and though the most beautiful lips in the world 
had first taught me to smoke it, I discovered, after a few pipes 
of the weed, that it was not so much to my taste as that grown 
in the West Indies ; and as his Havannah cigars were also not to 
my liking, I was compelled, not without. some scruples of conscience 
at my infidelity, to procure my smoking supplies elsewhere. 

And now I come to the fatal part of my story. Wilder, who 
was likewise an amateur of the weed, once came to my lodgings in 
the company of a tobacconist whom he patronised, and who brought 
several boxes and samples for inspection. Herr Bohr, which was 
the gentleman’s name, sat down with us. His wares were very 
good, and — must I own it 1 — I thought it would be a very clever 
and prudent thing on my part to exchange some of my rare Syrian 
against his canaster and Havannahs. I vaunted the quality of the 
goods to him, and, going into the inner room, returned with a packet 
of the real Syrian. Herr Bohr looked at the parcel rather con- 
temptuously, I thought. 

“ I have plenty of these goods in my shop,” said he. 

“ Why, you don’t thay tho,” says Wilder, with a grin ; “ ith 
the weal wegular Thywian. My friend Fitth-Boodle got it from 
hith bankerth, and no mithtake ! ” 

“Was it from Mr. Lowe 1 ” says Bohr, with another provoking 


sneer. 


304 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


“ Exactly. His brother Israel sent it from Constantinople.” 

“ Bah ! ” says Rohr. “ I sold this very tobacco, seven pounds 
of it, at fourteen groschen a pound, to Miss Minna Lowe and little 
Mr. Hirsch, who came express to my shop for it. Here’s my seal,” 
says Mr. Rohr. And sure enough he produced, from a very fat and 
dirty forefinger, a seal, which bore the engraving on the packet. 

“You sold that to Miss Minna Lowe?” groaned poor George 
Fitz-Boodle. 

“ Yes, and she bated me down half a gros in the price. Heaven 
help you, sir ! she always makes the bargains for her father. 
There’s something so pretty about her that we can’t resist her.” 

“ And do you thell wineth , too — Thypwuth and Mddoc, hay ? ” 
continued the brute Wilder, enjoying the joke. 

“No,” answered Mr. Rohr, with another confounded sneer. 
“ He makes those himself ; but I have some very fine Mddoc and 
Greek wine, if his high well-born Lordship would like a few dozen. 
Shall I send a panier ? ” 

“ Leave the room , sir ! ” here shouted I, in a voice of uncontrol- 
lable ferocity, and looked so wildly that little Rohr rushed away in 
a fright, and Wilder burst into one of his demoniacal laughs again. 

“Don’t you thee, my good fwiend,” continued he, “how wegu- 
larly thethe people having been doing you? I tell you their 
chawacterth are known all over the town. There’th not a thtudent 
in the place but can give you a hithtory of the family. Lowe ith 
an infarnal old uthuwer, and liith daughterth wegular mantwapth. 
At the Thtar, where I dine with the officerth of the garrithon, you 
and Minna are a thtandard joke. Captain Heerpauk wath caught 
himself for near six weekth ; young Yon Twommel wath wemoved 
by hith fwiends ; old Colonel Blitz wath at one time tho nearly gone 
in love with the elder, that he would have had a divorce from hith 
lady. Among the thtudentth the mania hath been jutlit the thame. 
Whenever one wath worth plucking, Lowe uthed to have him to 
hith houtlie and wob him, until at latht the wathcal’th chawacter 
became tho well known, that the thtudentth in a body have 
detherted him, and you will find that not one of them will dance 
with hith daughterth, handthome ath they are. Go down to 
Godesberg to-night and thee.” 

“ I am going,” answered I ; “ the young ladies asked me to drive 
down in their carriage ; ” and I flung myself back on the sofa, and 
puffed away volumes of smoke, and tossed and tumbled the live- 
long day, with a horrible conviction that something of what Wilder 
had told me might be true, and with a vow to sacrifice, at least, 
one of the officers who had been laughing at me. 

There they were, the scoundrels ! in their cursed tight frock- 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 305 

coats and hay-coloured mustachios, twirling round in the waltzes 
with the citizens’ daughters, when, according to promise, I arrived 
with the Israelitish ladies at the garden at Godesberg, where dancing 
is carried on twice or thrice in a week. There were the students, 
with their long pipes, and little caps, and long hair, tippling at the 
tables under the leaves, or dancing that absurd waltz which has 
always been the object of my contempt. The fact is, I am not a 
dancing man. 

Students and officers, I thought, every eye was looking at me, as 
I entered the garden with Miss Minna Lowe on my arm. Wilder 
tells me that I looked blue with rage, and as if I should cut the 
throat of any man I met. 

We had driven down in old Lowe’s landau, the old gentleman 
himself acting as coachman, with Mr. Hirsch in his best clothes by 
his side. In the carriage came Madame Solomon, in yellow satin ; 
Miss Lowe, in light green (it is astonishing how persons of a light 
complexion will wear this detestable colour) ; Miss Minna was in 
white muslin, with a pair of black knit gloves on her beautiful arms, 
a pink riband round her delicate waist, and a pink scarf on her 
shoulders, for in those days — and the fashion exists still somewhat 
on the Rhine — it was the custom of ladies to dress themselves in 
what we call an evening costume for dinner-time ; and so was the 
lovely Minna attired. As I sat by her on the back seat, I did not 
say one single word, I confess, but looked unutterable things, and 
forgot in her beauty all the suspicions of the morning. I hadn’t 
asked her to waltz— for, the fact is, I didn’t know how to waltz, and 
so only begged her hand for a quadrille. 

We entered thus Mr. Blintzner’s garden as I have described, the 
men staring at us, the lovely Minna on my arm. I ordered refresh- 
ments for the party ; and we sat at a table near the boarded place 
where the people were dancing. No one came up to ask Minna to 
waltz, and I confess I was not sorry for it — for I own to that dog- 
in-the-manger jealousy which is common to love — no one came but 
poor little Hirsch, who had been absent to get sandwiches for the 
ladies, and came up making his bow just as I was asking Minna 
whether she would give no response to my letters. She looked sur- 
prised, — looked at Hirsch, who looked at me, and laying his hand 
(rather familiarly) upon my arm, put the other paw to his great, 
red, blubber lips, as if enjoining silence ; and, without a word, carries 
off Minna, and began twisting her round in the waltz. 

The little brute had assumed his best clothes for the occasion, 
He had a white hat and a pair of white gloves ; a green satin stock, 
with profuse studs of jewels in his shirt ; a yellow waistcoat, with 
one of pink Cashmere underneath ; very short nankeen trousers, and 


306 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


striped silk stockings ; and a swallow-tailed, short-waisted, light- 
brown coat, with brass buttons ; the tails whirled in the wind as he 
and his partner spun round to a very quick waltz — not without 
agility, I confess, on the little scoundrel’s part — and oh, with what 
incomparable grace on Minna’s ! The other waltzers cleared away, 
doubtless to look at her performance ; but though such a reptile was 
below my jealousy, I felt that I should have preferred to the same 
music to kick the little beast round the circle rather than see his 
hand encircling such a waist as that. 

They only made one or two turns, however, and came back. 
Minna was blushing very red, and very much agitated. 

“ Will you take one turn, Fraulein Lisa ? ” said the active Hirscli ; 
and after a little to-do on the part of the elder sister, she got up, and 
advanced to the dancing place. 

What was my surprise when the people again cleared off, and 
left the pair to perform alone ! Hirsch and his partner enjoyed their 
waltz, however, and returned, looking as ill-humoured as possible. 
The band struck up presently a quadrille tune. I would not receive 
any of Minna’s excuses. She did not wish to dance ; she was faint, 
— she had no vis-a-vis. “ Hirsch,” said I, with much courtesy, “ take 
out Madame Solomon, and come and dance.” We advanced, — big 
Mrs. Solomons and Hirsch, Minna and I, — Miss Lisa remaining with 
her papa over the Rhine wine and sandwiches. 

There were at least twenty couple, who were mustering to make 
a quadrille when we advanced. Minna blushed scarlet, and I felt 
her trembling on my arm ; no doubt ’twas from joy at dancing with 
the fashionable young Englander. Hirsch, with a low bow and 
scrape, led Madame Solomon opposite us, and put himself in the 
fifth position. It was rather disgusting, certainly, for George Savage 
Fitz-Boodle to be dancing vis-a-vis with such an animal as that ! 

Mr. Hirsch clapped his hands with a knowing air, to begin. I 
looked up from Minna (what I had been whispering to her must not 
be concealed- — in fact, I had said so previously, es ist sehr warm : 
but I said it with an accent that must have gone to her heart), — 
when I say I looked up from her lovely face, I found that every one 
of the other couple had retired, and that we four were left to dance 
the quadrille by ourselves ! 

Yes, by heavens ! it was so ! Minna, from being scarlet, turned 
ghastly pale, and would have fallen back had I not encircled her 
with my arm. “ I’m ill,” said she ; “ let me go back to my father.” 
“You must dance” said I, and held up my clenched fist at Hirsch, 
who I thought would have moved off too; on which the little 
fellow was compelled to stop. And so we four went through the 
quadrille. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 307 

The first figure seemed to me to last a hundred thousand years. 
I don’t know how it was that Minna did not fall down and faint ; 
but gathering courage all of a sudden, and throwing a quick fierce 
look round about her, as if in defiance, and a frown which made 
my little angel for a moment look like a little demon, she went 
through the dance with as much gracefulness as a duchess. As for 
me, — at first the whole air seemed to be peopled with grinning 
faces, and I moved about almost choked with rage and passion. 
Then gradually the film of fury wore off, and I became wonderfully 
calm, — nay, had the leisure to look at Monsieur Hirsch, who per- 
formed all the steps with wonderful accuracy ; and at every one of 
the faces round about it, officers, students, and citizens. None of the 
gentlemen, probably, liked my face, — for theirs wore, as I looked at 

them, a very grave and demure expression. But as Minna was 
dancing, I heard a voice behind her cry, sneeringly, “ Brava ! ” I 
turned quickly round, and caught the speaker. He turned very 
red, and so betrayed himself. Our eyes met — it was a settled 
thing. There was no need of any further arrangement, and it was 

then, as I have said, that the film cleared off; and I have to thank 
Captain Heerpauk for getting through the quadrille without an 
apoplexy. 

“Did you hear that— that voice, Herr George'?” said Miss 
Minna, looking beseechingly in my face, and trembling on my arm, 
as I led her back to her father. Poor soul ! I saw it all at once. 
She loved me, — I knew she did, and trembled lest I should run 
into any danger. I stuttered, stammered, vowed I did not hear it ; 
at the same time swearing inwardly an oath of the largest dimen- 
sions, that I would cut the throat whence that “Brava” issued. I 
left my lady for a moment, and finding Wilder, pointed out the man 
to him. 

“ Oh, Heerpauk,” says he. “ What do you want with him 1 ” 

“ Charley,” says I, with much heroism and ferocity, “ I want 
to shoot him ; just tell him so.” And when, on demurring, I 
swore I would go and pull the Captain’s nose on the ground, 
Wilder agreed to settle the business for me ; and I returned to 
our party. 

It was quite clear that we could not stay longer in the gardens. 
Lowe’s carriage was not to come for an hour yet; for the banker 
would not expend money in stabling his horses at the inn, and had 
accordingly sent them back to Bonn. What should we do ? There 
is a ruined castle at Godesberg, which looks down upon the fair 
green plain of the Rhine, where Mr. Blintzner’s house stands (and 
let the reader be thankful that I don’t give a description of scenery 
here): there is, I say, a castle at Godesberg. “Explorons le shatto,” 


308 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


says I ; which elegant French Hirsch translated ; and this suggestion 
was adopted by the five Israelites, to the fairest of whom I offered 
my arm. The lovely Minna took it, and away we went ; Wilder, 
who was standing at the gate, giving me a nod, to say all was right. 
I saw him presently strolling up the hill after me, with a Prussian 
officer, with whom he was talking. Old Lowe was with his daughter, 
and as the old banker was infirm, the pair walked but slowly. 
Monsieur Hirsch had given his arm to Madame Solomon. She was 
a fat woman ; the consequence was that Minna and I were soon con- 
siderably ahead of the rest of the party, and were ascending the hill 
alone. I said several things to her, such as only lovers say. “ Com 
il fay bo issy,” says I, in the most insinuating way. No answer. 
“Es ist etwas kalt,” even I continued, admirably varying my phrase. 
She did not speak ; she was agitated by the events of the evening, 
and no wonder. 

That fair round arm resting on mine, — that lovely creature 
walking by my side in the calm moonlight,— the silver Rhine 
flashing before us, with Drachenfels and the Seven Mountains 
rising clear in the distance, — the music of the dance coming up 
to us from the plain below, — the path winding every now and 
then into the darkest foliage, and at the next moment giving us 
rich views of the moonlit river and plain below. Could any man 
but feel the influence of a scene so exquisitely lovely ^ 

“ Minna,” says I, as she wouldn’t speak, — “ Minna, I love you ; 
you have known it long, long ago, I know you have. Nay, do not 
withdraw your hand; your heart has spoken for me. Be mine 
then ! ” and taking her hand, I kissed it rapturously, and should 

have proceeded to her cheek, no doubt, when she gave me a 

swinging box on the ear, started back, and incontinently fell a- 
screaming as loudly as any woman ever did. 

“ Minna, Minna ! ” I heard the voice of that cursed Hirsch 
shouting. “ Minna, 7>ieine Gattin ! ” and he rushed up the hill ; 
and Minna flung herself in his arms, crying, “ Lorenzo, my husband, 
save me ! ” 

The Lowe family, Wilder, and his friend, came skurrying up 
the hill at the same time ; and we formed what in the theatres is 
called a tableau. 

“ You coward ! ” says Minna, her eyes flashing fire, “ who 
could see a woman insulted, and never defend her ! ” 

“ You coward ! ” roared Hirsch ; “coward as well as profligate ! 
You communicated to me your lawless love for this angel, — to me 
her affianced husband ; and you had the audacity to send her letters, 
not one of which, so help me Heaven, has been received. Yes, you 
will laugh at Jews, — will you, you brutal Englishman'? You will 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


309 


insult our people, — will you, you stupid islander ? Psha ! I spit 
upon you ! ” and here Monsieur Hirscli snapped his fingers in my 
face, holding Minna at the same time round the waist, who thus 
became the little monster’s buckler. 

They presently walked away, and left me in a pleasant condition. 
I was actually going to fight a duel on the morrow for the sake of 
this fury, and it appeared that she had flung me off for cowardice. 
I had allowed myself to be swindled by her father, and insulted by 
her filthy little bridegroom, and for what ? All the consolation I 
got from Wilder was — “I told you tho, my boy, but you wouldn’t 
lithn, you gweat thoopid blundewing ignowamuth ; and now I shall 
have to thee you shot and buwied to-mowow ; and I dare thay you 
won’t even remember me in your will. Captain Schlager,” continued 
he, presenting me to his companion, “ Mr. Fitz-Boodle ; the Captain 
acts for Heerpauk in the morning, and we were just talking matters 
over, when Webecca yonder quied out, and we found her in the 
armth of Bwian de Bois-Guilbert here.” 

Captain Schlager was a little, social, good-humoured man, with 
a mustachio of straw and silver mixed, and a brilliant purple sabre- 
cut across a rose-coloured nose. He had the iron cross at his 
buttonhole, and looked, as he was, a fierce little fighter. But he 
was too kind-hearted to allow of two boys needlessly cutting each 
other’s throats ; and much to the disappointment of Wilder, doubt- 
less, who had been my second in the Martingale affair, and enjoyed 
no better sport, he said, in English, laughing, “Yell, make your 
mint easy, my goot young man, I tink you af got into enough 
sgrabes about dis tarn Shewess ; and dat you and Heerpauk haf no 
need to blow each other’s brains off.” 

“ Ath for Fitth apologithing,” burst out Wilder, “that’th out 
of the quethtion. He gave the challenge, you know ; and how the 
dooth ith he to apologithe now ? ” 

“He gave the challenge, and you took it, and you are de 
greatest fool of de two. I say the two young men shall not 
fight ; ” and then the honest Captain entered into a history of the 
worthy family of Israel, which would have saved me at least fifty 
pounds had I known it sooner. It did not differ in substance from 
what Rohr and Wilder had both told me in the morning. The 
venerable Lowe was a great thief and extortioner; the daughters 
were employed as decoy-ducks, in the first place, for the University 
and the garrison, and afterwards for young strangers, such as my 
wise self, who visited the place. There was some very sad story 
about the elder Miss Lowe and a tutor from St. John’s College, 
Cambridge, who came to Bonn on a reading tour ; but I am not at 


310 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


liberty to set down here the particulars. And with regard to 
Minna, there was a still more dismal history. A fine handsome 
young student, the pride of the University, had first ruined himself 
through the offices of the father, and then shot himself for love of 
the daughter ; from which time the whole town had put the family 
into Coventry ; nor had they appeared for two years in public until 
upon the present occasion with me. As for Monsieur Hirscli, he 
did not care. He was of a rich Frankfort family of the people, 
serving his apprenticeship with Lowe, a cousin, and the destined 
husband of the younger daughter. He traded as mucli as he could 
on his own account, and would run upon any errand, and buy or sell 
anything for a consideration. And so, instead of fighting Captain 
Heerpauk, I agreed, willingly enough, to go back to the hotel at 
Godesberg, and shake hands with that officer. The reconciliation, 
or, rather, the acquaintance between us, was effected over a bottle 
of wine, at Mr. Blintzner’s hotel ; and we rode comfortably back 
in a droskey together to Bonn, where the friendship was still more 
closely cemented by a supper. At the close of the repast, Heerpauk 
made a speech on England, fatherland, and German truth and love, 
and kindly saluted me with a kiss, which is at any lady’s service 
who peruses this little narrative. 

As for Mr. Hirsch, it must be confessed, to my shame, that the 
next morning a gentleman having the air of an old-clothes-man off 
duty presented me with an envelope, containing six letters of my 
composition addressed to Miss Minna Lowe (among them was a 
little poem in English, which has since called tears from the eyes 
of more than one lovely girl) ; and, furthermore, a letter from him- 
self, in which he, Baron Hirsch, of Hirschenwald (the scoundrel, 
like my friend Wilder, purchased his title in the “ Awthtwian 
Thervith ”) in which he, I say, Baron Hirsch, of Hirschenwald, 
challenges me for insulting Miss Minna Lowe, or demands an 
apology. 

This, I said, Mr. Hirsch might have whenever he chose to come 
and fetch it, pointing to a horsewhip which lay in a corner ; but 
that he must come early, as I proposed to quit Bonn the next 
morning. The Baron’s friend, hearing this, asked whether I would 
like some remarkably fine cigars for my excursion, which he could 
give me a great bargain? He was then shown to the door by 
my body-servant; nor did Hirsch von Hirschenwald come for the 
apology. 

Twice every year, however, I get a letter from him, dated 
Frankfort, and proposing to make me a present of a splendid 
palace in Austria or Bohemia, or two hundred thousand florins, 
should I prefer money. I saw his lady at Frankfort only last year, 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 311 

in a front box at the theatre, loaded with diamonds, and at least 
sixteen stone in weight. 

Ah ! Minna, Minna ! thou mayest grow to be as ugly as sin, 
and as fat as Daniel Lambert, but I have the amber mouthpiece 
still, and swear that the prettiest lips in Jewry have kissed it ! 

The MS. here concludes with a rude design of a young lady 
smoking a pipe. 


DOROTHEA 


EYOND sparring and cricket, I do not recollect I learned 
anything useful at Slaughter House School, where I was 



educated (according to an old family tradition, which sends 
particular generations of gentlemen to particular schools in the 
kingdom ; and such is the force of habit, that though I hate the 
place, I shall send my own son thither too, should I marry any 
day). I say I learned little that was useful at Slaughter House, 
and nothing that was ornamental. I would as soon have thought 
of learning to dance as of learning to climb chimneys. Up to the 
age of seventeen, as I have shown, I had a great contempt for the 
female race, and when age brought with it warmer and juster senti- 
ments, where was I ? — I could no more dance nor prattle to a young 
girl than a young bear could. I have seen the ugliest little low-bred 
wretches carrying off young and lovely creatures, twirling with them 
in waltzes, whispering between their glossy curls in quadrilles, sim- 
pering with perfect equanimity, and cutting pas in that abominable 
“ cavalier seul,” until my soul grew sick with fury. In a word, I 
determined to learn to dance. 

But such things are hard to be acquired late in life, when the 
bones and the habits of a man are formed. Look at a man in a 
hunting-field who has not been taught to ride as a boy. All the 
pluck and courage in the world will not make the man of him that 
I am, or as any man who has had the advantages of early education 
in the field. 

In the same way with dancing. Though I went to work with 
immense energy, both in Brewer Street, Golden Square (with an 
advertising fellow), and afterwards with old Coulon at Paris, I never 
was able to be easy in dancing ; and though little Coulon instructed 
me in a smile, it was a cursed forced one, that looked like the grin 
of a person in extreme agony. I once caught sight of it in a glass, 
and have hardly ever smiled since. 

Most young men about London have gone through that strange 
secret ordeal of the dancing-school. I am given to understand that 
young snobs from attorneys’ offices, banks, shops, and the like, make 
not the least mystery of their proceedings in the saltatory line, but 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 313 

trip gaily, with pumps in hand, to some dancing-place about Soho, 
waltz and quadrille it with Miss Greengrocer or Miss Butcher, and 
fancy they have had rather a pleasant evening. There is one house 
in Dover Street, where, behind a dirty curtain, such figures may be 
seen hopping every night, to a perpetual fiddling ; and I have stood 
sometimes wondering in the street, with about six blackguard boys 
wondering too, at the strange contortions of the figures jumping up 
and down to the mysterious squeaking of the kit. Have they no 
shame ces gens ? are such degrading initiations to be held in public 1 
No, the snob may, but the man of refined mind never can submit to 
show himself in public labouring at the apprenticeship of this most 
absurd art. It is owing, perhaps, to this modesty, and the fact that 
I had no sisters at home, that I have never thoroughly been able to 
dance ; for though I always arrive at the end of a quadrille (and 
thank Heaven for it too !) and though, I believe, I make no mistake 
in particular, yet I solemnly confess I have never been able thoroughly 
to comprehend the mysteries of it, or what I have been about from 
the beginning to the end of the dance. I always look at the lady 
opposite, and do as she does : if she did not know how to dance, 
par kasard, it would be all up. But if they can’t do anything else, 
women can dance : let us give them that praise at least. 

In London, then, for a considerable time, I used to get up at 
eight o’clock in the morning, and pass an hour alone with Mr. 
Wilkinson, of the Theatres Royal, in Golden Square : — an hour 
alone. It was “ one, two, three ; one, two, three — now jump — 
right foot more out, Mr. Smith ; and if you could try and look a 
little more cheerful, your partner, sir, would like you hall the better.” 
Wilkinson called me Smith, for the fact is, I did not tell him my real 
name, nor (thank Heaven !) does he know it to this day. 

I never breathed a word of my doings to any soul among my 
friends ; once a pack of them met me in the strange neighbourhood, 
when, I am ashamed to say, I muttered something about a “ little 
French milliner,” and walked off, looking as knowing as I could. 

In Paris, two Cambridge men* and myself, who happened to be 
staying at a boarding-house together, agreed to go to Coulon, a little 
creature of four feet high with a pigtail. His room was hung round 
with glasses. He made us take off our coats, and dance each before 
a mirror. Once he was standing before us playing on his kit — the 
sight of the little master and the pupil was so supremely ridiculous, 
that I burst into a yell of laughter, which so offended the old man 
that he walked away abruptly, and begged me not to repeat my 
visits. Nor did I. I was just getting into waltzing then, but 
determined to drop waltzing, and content myself with quadrilling 
for the rest of my days. 


314 


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This was all very well in France and England ; but in Germany 
what was I to do? What did Hercules do when Omphale capti- 
vated him? What did Rinaldo do when Armida fixed upon him 
her twinkling eyes ? Nay, to cut all historical instances short, by 
going at once to the earliest, what did Adam do when Eve tempted 
him ? He yielded and became her slave ; and so I do heartily trust 
every honest man will yield until the end of the world — he has no 
heart who w T ill not. When I was in Germany, I say, I began to 
learn to waltz. The reader from this will no doubt expect that 
some new love-adventures befell me — nor will his gentle heart be 
disappointed. Two deep and tremendous incidents occurred which 
shall be notified on the present occasion. 

The reader, perhaps, remembers the brief appearance of his 

Highness the Duke of Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel at B House, 

in the first part of my Memoirs, at that unlucky period of my life 
when the Duke was led to remark the odour about my clothes which 
lost me the hand of Maty M‘Alister. I somehow found myself in 
his Highness’s territories, of which anybody may read a description 
in the Almanack de Gotha. His Highness’s father, as is w T ell 
known, married Emilia Kunegunda Thomasina Charleria Emanuela 
Louisa Georgina, Princess of Saxe-Pumpernickel, and a cousin of his 
Highness the Duke. Thus the two principalities were united under 
one happy sovereign in the person of Philibert Sigismund Emanuel 
Maria, the reigning Duke, who has received from his country (on 
account of the celebrated pump which he erected in the market- 
place of Kalbsbraten) the well-merited appellation of the Magnificent. 
The allegory which the statues round about the pump represent, is 
of a . very mysterious and complicated sort. Minerva is observed 
leading up Ceres to a river-god, who has his arms round the neck of 
Pomona ; while Mars (in a full-bottomed wig) is driven away by 
Peace, under whose mantle two lovely children, representing the 
Duke’s two provinces, repose. The celebrated Speck is, as need 
scarcely be said, the author of this piece ; and of other magnificent 
edifices in the Residenz, such as the guard-room, the skittle-hall 
( Grossherzoglich Kalbsbratenpumpernickelisch SchJcittelspielsaal ), 
&c., and the superb sentry-boxes before the Grand-Ducal Palace. 
He is Knight Grand Cross of the ancient Kartoffel Order, as, indeed, 
is almost every one else in his Highness’s dominions. 

The town of Kalbsbraten contains a population of two thousand 
inhabitants, and a palace which would accommodate about six times 
that number. The principality sends three and a half men to the 
German Confederation, who are commanded by a General (Excel- 
lency), two Major-Generals, and sixty-four officers of lower grades ; 
all noble, all knights of the Order, and almost all chamberlains to 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 315 

his Highness the Grand Duke. An excellent band of eighty per- 
formers is the admiration of the surrounding country, and leads the 
Grand-Ducal troops to battle in time of war. Only three of the 
contingent of soldiers returned from the Battle of Waterloo, where 
they won much honour ; the remainder was cut to pieces on that 
glorious day. 

There is a chamber of representatives (which, however, nothing 
can induce to sit), home and foreign ministers, residents from neigh- 
bouring courts, law presidents, town councils, &c., all the adjuncts 
of a big or little government. The Court has its chamberlains and 
marshals, the Grand Duchess her noble ladies in waiting and blush- 
ing maids of honour. Thou wert one, Dorothea ! Dost remember 
the poor young Englander'? We parted in anger; but I think — I 
think thou hast not forgotten him. 

The way in which I have Dorothea von Speck present to my 
mind is this : not as I first saw her in the garden — for her hair was 
in bandeaux then, and a large Leghorn hat with a deep riband 
covered half her fair face, — not in a morning-dress, which, by the 
way, was none of the newest nor the best made — but as I saw her 
afterwards at a ball at the pleasant splendid little Court, where she 
moved the most beautiful of the beauties of Kalbsbraten. The 
grand saloon of the palace is lighted — the Grand Duke and his 
officers, the Duchess and her ladies, have passed through. I, in 
my uniform of the — tli, and a number of young fellows (who are 
evidently admiring my legs and envying my distingue appear- 
ance), are waiting round the entrance-door, where a huge Hey- 
duke is standing, and announcing the titles of the guests as they 
arrive. 

“ Herr Oberhof- und Bau-Inspektor von Speck ! ” shouts 
the Heyduke ; and the little Inspector comes in. His lady is on 
his arm — huge, in towering plumes, and her favourite costume of 
light blue. Fair women always dress in light blue or light green ; 
and Frau von Speck is very fair and stout. 

But who comes behind her ? Lieber Himmel ! It is Dorothea ! 
Did earth, among all the flowers which have sprung from its bosom, 
produce ever one more beautiful ? She was none of your heavenly 
beauties, I tell you. She had nothing ethereal about her. No, 
sir; she was of the earth earthy, and must have weighed ten 
stone four or five, if she weighed an ounce. She had none of your 
Chinese feet, nor waspy unhealthy waists, which those may admire 
who will. No : Dora’s foot was a good stout one ; you could see 
her ankle (if her robe was short enough) without the aid of a 
microscope ; and that envious little sour skinny Amalia von 
Mangelwiirzel used to hold up her four fingers and say (the two 


316 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


girls were most intimate friends of course), “ Dear Dorothea’s vaist is 
so much dicker as dis.” And so I have no doubt it was. 

But what then 1 Goethe sings in one of his divine epigrams : — 

“ Epicures vaunting their taste, entitle me vulgar and savage : 

Give them their Brussels-sprouts, but I am contented with cabbage."’ 

I hate your little women — that is, when I am in love with a tall 
one ; and who would not have loved Dorothea ? 

Fancy her, then, if you please, about five feet four inches high — 
fancy her in the family colour of light blue, a little scarf covering 
the most brilliant shoulders in the world ; and a pair of gloves 
clinging close round an arm that may, perhaps, be somewhat too 
large now, but that Juno might have envied then. After the fashion 
of young ladies on the Continent, she wears no jewels or gimcracks : 
her only ornament is a wreath of vine-leaves in her hair, with little 
clusters of artificial grapes. Down on her shoulders falls the brown 
hair, in rich liberal clusters ; all that health, and good-humour, and 
beauty can do for the face, kind nature has done for hers. Her 
eyes are frank, sparkling, and kind. As for her cheeks, what paint- 
box or dictionary contains pigments or words to describe their red ? 
They say she opens her mouth and smiles always to show the 
dimples in her cheeks. Psha ! she smiles because she is happy, and 
kind, and good-humoured, and not because her teeth are little 
pearls. 

All the young fellows crowd up to ask her to dance, and, taking 
from her waist a little mother-of-pearl remembrancer, she notes them 
down. Old Schnabel for the polonaise ; Klingenspohr, first waltz ; 
Haarbart, second waltz; Count Hornpieper (the Danish envoy), 
third ; and so on. I have said why / could not ask her to waltz, 
and I turned away with a pang, and played ecarte with Colonel 
Trumpenpack all night. 

In thus introducing this lovely creature in her ball-costume, I 
have been somewhat premature, and had best go back to the beginning 
of the history of my acquaintance with her. 

Dorothea, then, was the daughter of the celebrated Speck before 
mentioned. It is one of the oldest names in Germany, where her 
father’s and mother’s houses, those of Speck and Eyre, are loved 
wherever they are known. Unlike his warlike progenitor, Lorenzo 
von Speck, Dorothea’s father, had early shown himself a passionate 
admirer of art ; had quitted home to study architecture in Italy, and 
had become celebrated throughout Europe, and been appointed Ober- 
hofarchitect and Kunst- und Bau-Inspektor of the united principalities. 
They are but four miles wide, and his genius has consequently but 
little room to play. What art can do, however, he does. The 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


317 


palace is frequently whitewashed under his eyes ; the theatre painted 
occasionally ; the noble public buildings erected of which I have 
already made mention. 

I had come to Kalbsbraten, scarce knowing whither I went ; and 
having, in about ten minutes, seen the curiosities of the place (I did 
not care to see the King’s palace, for chairs and tables have no great 
charm fur me), I had ordered horses, and wanted to get on I cared 
not whither, when Fate threw Dorothea in my way. I was yawning 
back to the hotel through the palace-garden, a valet-de-place at my 
side, when I saw a young lady seated under a tree reading a novel, 
her mamma on the same bench (a fat woman in light blue) knitting 
a stocking, and two officers, choked in their stays, with various orders 
on their spinach-coloured coats, standing by in first attitudes : the 
one was caressing the fat lady-in-blue’s little dog; the other was 
twirling his own moustache, which was already as nearly as possible 
curled into his own eye. 

I don’t know how it is, but I hate to see men evidently intimate 
with nice-looking women, and on good terms with themselves. There’s 
something annoying in their cursed complacency — their evident sun- 
shiny happiness. I’ve no woman to make sunshine for me ; and yet 
my heart tells me that not one, but several such suns, would do good 
to my system. 

“ Who are those pert-looking officers,” says I, peevishly, to the 
guide, “ who are talking to those vulgar-looking women % ” 

“ The big one, with the epaulets, is Major von Schnabel ; the 
little one, with the pale face, is Stiefel von Klingenspohr.” 

“ And the big blue woman % ” 

“ The Grand - Ducal Pumpernickelian - Court - architectress and 
Upper-Palace-and-building-Inspectress von Speck, born von Eyer,” 
replied the guide. “ Your well-born honour has seen the pump in 
the market-place ; that is the work of the great Yon Speck.” 

“ And yonder young person ? ” 

“Mr. Court-architect’s daughter, the Fraulein Dorothea.” 

Dorothea looked up from her novel here, and turned her face 
towards the stranger who was passing, and then blushing turned it 
down again. Schnabel looked at me with a scowl, Klingenspohr 
with a simper, the dog with a yelp, the fat lady in blue just gave 
one glance, and seemed, I thought, rather well pleased. “ Silence, 
Lischen ! ” said she to the dog. “ Go on, darling Dorothea,” she 
added, to her daughter, who continued her novel. 

Her voice was a little tremulous, but very low and rich. For 
some reason or other, on getting back to the inn, I countermanded 
the horses, and said I would stay for the night. 


318 


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I not only stayed that night, but many, many afterwards ; and 
as for the manner in which I became acquainted with the Speck 
family, why, it was a good joke against me at the time, and I did 
not like then to have it known ; but now it may as well come out 
at once. Speck, as everybody knows, lives in the market-place, 
opposite his grand work of art, the town pump, or fountain. I 
bought a large sheet of paper, and, having a knack at drawing, sat 
down, with the greatest gravity, before the pump, and sketched it 
for several hours. I knew it would bring out old Speck to see. At 
first he contented himself by flattening his nose against the window- 
glasses of his study, and looking what the Englander was about. 
Then he put on his grey cap with the huge green shade, and sauntered 
to the door : then he walked round me, and formed one of a band 
of street-idlers who were looking on : then at last he could restrain 
himself no more, but, pulling off his cap, with a low bow, began to 
discourse upon arts, and architecture in particular. 

“ It is curious,” says he, “ that you have taken the same view 
of which a print has been engraved.” 

“ That is extraordinary,” says I (though it wasn’t, for I had 
traced my drawing at a window off the very print in question). I 
added that I was, like all the world, immensely struck with the 
beauty of the edifice ; heard of it at Rome, where it was considered 
to be superior to any of the celebrated fountains of that capital of 
the fine arts ; finally, that unless perhaps the celebrated fountain of 
Aldgate in London might compare with it, Kalbsbraten building, 
except in that case, was incomparable. 

This speech I addressed in French, of which the worthy Hof- 
architect understood somewhat, and continuing to reply in German, 
our conversation grew pretty close. It is singular that I can talk 
to a man and pay him compliments with the utmost gravity, 
whereas, with a woman, I at once lose all self-possession, and have 
never said a pretty thing in my life. 

My operations on old Speck were so conducted, that in a quarter 
of an hour I had elicited from him an invitation to go over the town 
with him, and see its architectural beauties. So we walked through 
the huge half-furnished chambers of the palace, we panted up the 
copper pinnacle of the church-tower, we went to see the Museum 
and Gymnasium, and coming back into the market-place again, 
what could the Hofarchitect do but offer me a glass of wine and 
a seat in his house 1 He introduced me to his Gattinn, his Leocadia 
(the fat woman in blue), “as a young world-observer, and worthy 
art-friend, a young scion of British Adel, who had come to refresh 
himself at the Urquellen of his race, and see his brethren of the 
great family of Hermann.” 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 319 

I saw instantly that the old fellow was of a romantic turn, from 
this rodomontade to his lady : nor was she a whit less so ; nor was 
Dorothea less sentimental than her mamma. She knew everything 
regarding the literature of Albion, as she was pleased to call it; 
and asked me news of all the famous writers there. I told her 
that Miss Edgeworth was one of the loveliest young beauties at our 
Court ; I described to her Lady Morgan, herself as beautiful as the 
wild Irish girl she drew ; I promised to give her a signature of Mrs. 
Hemans (which I wrote for her that very evening) ; and described 
a fox-hunt, at which I had seen Thomas Moore and Samuel Rogers, 
Esquires; and a boxing-match, in which the athletic author of 
“Pelham” was pitted against the hardy mountain bard, Words- 
worth. You see my education was not neglected, for though I 
have never read the works of the above-named ladies and gentlemen, 
yet I knew their names well enough. 

Time passed away. I, perhaps, was never so brilliant in con 
versation as when excited by the Assmannshauser and the brilliant 
eyes of Dorothea that day. She and her parents had dined at their 
usual heathen hour ; but I was, I don’t care to own it, so smitten, that 
for the first time in my life I did not even miss the meal, and talked 
on until six o’clock, when tea was served. Madame Speck said they 
always drank it ; and so placing a teaspoonful of bohea in a caldron 
of water, she placidly handed out this decoction, which we took 
with cakes and tartines. I leave you to imagine how disgusted 
Klingenspohr and Schnabel looked when they stepped in as usual 
that evening to make their party of whist with the Speck family ! 
Down they were obliged to sit ; and the lovely Dorothea, for that 
night, declined to play altogether, and — sat on the sofa by me. 

What we talked about, who shall tell ? I would not, for my 
part, break the secret of one of those delicious conversations, of 
which I and every man in his time have held so many. You begin, 
very probably, about the weather — ’tis a common subject, but what 
sentiments the genius of Love can fling into it ! I have often, for 
my part, said to the girl of my heart for the time being, “It’s a 
fine day,” or, “ It’s a rainy morning,” in a way that has brought 
tears to her eyes. Something beats in your heart, and twangle ! 
a corresponding string thrills and echoes in hers. You offer her 
anything — her knitting-needles, a slice of bread-and-butter — what 
causes the grateful blush with which she accepts the one or the 
other? W T hy, she sees your heart handed over to her upon the 
needles, and the bread-and-butter is to her a sandwich with love 
inside it. If you say to your grandmother, “Ma’am, it’s a fine 
day,” or what not, she would find in the words no other meaning 
than their outward and visible one ; but say so to the girl you love, 


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and she understands a thousand mystic meanings in them. Thus, 
in a word, though Dorothea and I did not, probably, on the first 
night of our meeting, talk of anything more than the weather, or 
trumps, or some subjects which to such listeners as Schnabel and 
Klingenspohr and others might appear quite ordinary, yet to us they 
had a different signification, of which Love alone held the key. 

Without further ado then, after the occurrences of that evening, 
I determined on staying at Kalbsbraten, and presenting my card 
the next day to the Hof-Marshal, requesting to have the honour of 
being presented to his Highness the Prince, at one of whose Court- 
balls my Dorothea appeared as I have described her. 

It was summer when I first arrived at Kalbsbraten. The little 
Court was removed to Siegmundslust, his Highness’s country-seat : 
no balls were taking place, and, in consequence, I held my own with 
Dorothea pretty well. I treated her admirer, Lieutenant Klingen- 
spohr, with perfect scorn, had a manifest advantage over Major 
Schnabel, and used somehow to meet the fair one every day, walking 
in company with her mamma in the palace garden, or sitting under 
the acacias, with Belotte in her mother’s lap, and the favourite 
romance beside her. Dear, dear Dorothea ! what a number of novels 
she must have read in her time ! She confessed to me that she had 
been in love with Uncas, with Saint Preux, -with Ivanhoe, and with 
hosts of German heroes of romance ; and' ’when I asked her if she, 
whose heart was so tender towards imaginary youths, had never had 
a preference for any one of her living adorers, she only looked, and 
blushed, and sighed, and said nothing. 

You see I had got on as well as a man could do, until the con- 
founded Court season and the balls began, and then, — why, then 
came my usual luck. 

Waltzing is a part of a German girl’s life. With the best will 
in the world — which, I doubt not, she entertains for me, for I never 
put the matter of marriage directly to her — Dorothea could not go 
to balls and not waltz. It was madness to me to see her whirling 
round the room with officers, attaches , prim little chamberlains with 
gold keys and embroidered coats, her hair floating in the wind, her 
hand reposing upon the abominable little dancer’s epaulet, her good- 
humoured face lighted up with still greater satisfaction. I saw that 
I must learn to waltz too, and took my measures accordingly. 

The leader of the ballet at the Kalbsbraten theatre in my time 
was Springbock from Vienna. He had been a regular Zephyr once, 
’twas said, in his younger days ; and though he is now fifteen stone 
weight, I can, helas ! recommend him conscientiously as a master ; 
and I determined to take some lessons from him in the art which I 
had neglected so foolishly in early life. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 321 

It may be said, without vanity, that I was an apt pupil, and in 
the course of half-a-dozen lessons I had arrived at very considerable 
agility in the waltzing line, and could twirl round the room with 
him at such a pace as made the old gentleman pant again, and 
hardly left him breath enough to puff out a compliment to his pupil. 
I may say, that in a single week I became an expert waltzer ; but 
as I wished, when I came out publicly in that character, to be quite 
sure of myself, and as I had hitherto practised not with a lady, but 
with a very fat old man, it was agreed that he should bring a lady 
of his acquaintance to perfect me, and accordingly, at my eighth 
lesson, Madame Springbock herself came to the dancing-room, and 
the old Zephyr performed on the violin. 

If any man ventures the least sneer with regard to this lady, or 
dares to insinuate anything disrespectful to her or myself, I say at 
once that he is an impudent calumniator. Madame Springbock is old 
enough to be my grandmother, and as ugly a woman as I ever saw ; 
but, though old, she was pa&sionnee pour la danse , and not having 
(on account, doubtless, of her age and unprepossessing appearance) 
many opportunities of indulging in her favourite pastime, made up 
for lost time by immense activity whenever she could get a partner. 
In vain, at the end of the hour, would Springbock exclaim, “ Amalia, 
my soul’s blessing, the time is up ! ” “ Play on, dear Alphonso ! ” 

would the old lady exclaim, whisking me round ; and though I had 
not the least pleasure in such a homely partner, yet, for the sake of 
perfecting myself, I waltzed and waltzed with her, until we were 
both half dead with fatigue. 

At the end of three weeks I could waltz as well as any man 
in Germany. 

At the end of four weeks there was a grand ball at Court in 
honour of H.H. the Prince of Dummerland and his Princess, and 
then I determined I would come out in public. I dressed myself 
with unusual care and splendour. My hair was curled and my 
moustache dyed to a nicety; and of the four hundred gentlemen 
present, if the girls of Kalbsbraten did select one who wore an 
English hussar uniform, why should I disguise the fact ? In spite 
of my silence, the news had somehow got abroad, as news will in 
such small towns, — Herr von Fitz-Boodle was coming out in a 
waltz that evening. His Highness the Duke even made an allusion 
to the circumstance. When on this eventful night, I went, as 
usual, and made him my bow in the presentation, “ Yous, monsieur,” 
said he — “ vous qui etes si jeune, devez aimer la danse.” I blushed 
as red as my trousers, and bowing went away. 

I stepped up to Dorothea. Heavens ! how beautiful she 
looked ! and how archly, she smiled as, with a thumping heart, I 
4 X 


322 


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asked her hand for a waltz ! She took out her little mother-of- 
pearl dancing-book, she wrote down my name with her pencil : we 
were engaged for the fourth waltz, and till then I left her to other 
partners. 

Who says that his first waltz is not a nervous moment ? I vow 
I was more excited than by any duel I ever fought. I would not 
dance any contre-danse or galop. I repeatedly went to the buffet 
and got glasses of punch (dear simple Germany ! ’tis with rum-punch 
and egg-flip thy children strengthen themselves for the dance !) I 
went into the ballroom and looked — the couples bounded before 
me, the music clashed and rang in my ears — all was fiery, feverish, 
indistinct. The gleaming white columns, the polished oaken floors 
in which the innumerable tapers were reflected — all together swam 
before my eyes, and I was at a pitch of madness almost when the 
fourth waltz at length came. “ Will you dance with your sword 
on ?” said the sweetest voice in the world. I blushed, and 
stammered, and trembled, as I laid down that weapon and my cap, 
and hark ! the music began ! 

Oh, how my hand trembled as I placed it round the waist of 
Dorothea ! With my left hand I took her right — did she squeeze 
it? I think she did — to this day I think she did. Away we 
went ! we tripped over the polished oak floor like two young fairies. 

“ Courage, monsieur,” said she, with her sweet smile. Then it was 
“Trks bien, monsieur.” Then I heard the voices humming and 
buzzing about. “ II danse bien, l’Anglais,” “ Ma foi, oui,” says 
another. On we went, twirling and twisting, and turning and 
whirling ; couple after couple dropped panting off. Little Klingen- 
spohr himself was obliged to give in. All eyes were upon us — 
we were going round alone. Dorothea was almost exhausted, 
when 

******* 

I have been sitting for two hours since I marked the asterisks, 
thinking — thinking. I have committed crimes in my life — who 
hasn’t? But talk of remorse, what remorse is there like that which 
rushes up in a flood to my brain sometimes when I am alone, and 
causes me to blush when I’m abed in the dark ? 

I fell, sir, on that infernal slippery floor. Down we came like 
shot; we rolled over and over in the midst of the ballroom, the 
music going ten miles an hour, eight hundred pairs of eyes fixed 
upon us, a cursed shriek of laughter bursting out from all sides. 
Heavens ! how clear I heard it, as we went on rolling and rolling ! 

“ My child ! my Dorothea ! ” shrieked out Madame Speck, rushing 
forward, and as soon as she had breath to do so, Dorothea of course 
screamed too ; then she fainted, then she was disentangled from 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 323 

out my spurs, and borne off by a bevy of tittering women. “ Clumsy 
brute ! ” said Madame Speck, turning her fat back upon me. I 
remained upon my seant, wild, ghastly, looking about. It was all 
up with me — I knew it was. I wished I could have died there, 
and I wish so still. 

Klingenspohr married her, that is the long and short ; but 
before that event I placed a sabre-cut across the young scoundrel’s 
nose, which destroyed his beauty for ever. 

0 Dorothea ! you can’t forgive me — you oughtn’t to forgive 
me ; but I love you madly still. 

My next flame was Ottilia : but let us keep her for another 
number ; my feelings overpower me at present. 


OTTILIA 


CHAPTER I 

THE ALBUM— THE MEDITERRANEAN HEATH 

T RAVELLING some little time back in a wild part of Conne- 
mara, where I had been for fishing and seal-shooting, I had 
the good luck to get admission to the chateau of a hospi- 
table Irish gentleman, and to procure some news of my once dear 
Ottilia. 

Yes, of no other than Ottilia v. Schlippenschlopp, the Muse of 
Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel, the friendly little town far away in 
Sachsenland, — where old Speck built the town pump, where Klin- 
genspohr was slashed across the nose, — where Dorothea rolled over 

and over in that horrible waltz with Fitz-Boo Psha ! — away 

with the recollection : but wasn’t it strange to get news of Ottilia 
in the wildest corner of Ireland, where I never should have thought 
to hear her gentle name 1 ? Walking on that very Urrisbeg Mountain 
under whose shadow I heard Ottilia’s name, Mackay, the learned 
author of the “Flora Patlandica,” discovered the Mediterranean 
heath, — such a flower as I have often plucked on the sides of 
Vesuvius, and as Proserpine, no doubt, amused herself in gathering 
as she strayed in the fields of Enna. Here it is — the self-same 
flower, peering out at the Atlantic from Roundstone Bay ; here, too, 
in this wild lonely place, nestles the fragrant memory of my Ottilia ! 

In a word, after a day on Ballylynch Lake (where, with a 
brown fly and a single liair, I killed fourteen salmon, the smallest 
twenty-nine pounds weight, the largest somewhere about five stone 
ten), my young friend Blake Bodkin Lynch Browne (a fine lad who 
has made his Continental tour) and I adjourned, after dinner, to 
the young gentleman’s private room, for the purpose of smoking 
a certain cigar; which is never more pleasant than after a hard 
day’s sport, or a day spent indoors, or after a good dinner, or a bad 
one, or at night when you are tired, or in the morning when you 
are fresh, or of a cold winter’s day, or of a scorching summer’s after- 
noon, or at any other moment you choose to fix upon. 


FI TZ -BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


325 


What should I see in Blake’s room but a rack of pipes, such as 
are to be found in almost all the bachelors’ rooms in Germany, and 
amongst them was a porcelain pipe-head bearing the image of the 
Kalbsbraten pump ! There it was : the old spout, the old familiar 
allegory of Mars, Bacchus , Apollo virorum, and the rest, that I had 
so often looked at from Hofarchitect Speck’s window, as I sat there 
by the side of Dorothea. The old gentleman had given me one of 
these very pipes; for he had hundreds of them painted, wherewith he 
used to gratify almost every stranger who came into his native town. 

Any old place with which I have once been familiar (as, perhaps, 
I have before stated in these “ Confessions ” — but never mind that) 
is in some sort dear to me : and were I Lord Shootingcastle or 
Colonel Popland, I think after a residence of six months there I 
should love the Fleet Prison. As I saw the old familiar pipe, I took 
it down, and crammed it with Cavendish tobacco, and lay down on a 
sofa, and puffed away for an hour well-nigh, thinking of old old times. 

“You’re very entertaining to-night, Fitz,” says young Blake, 
who had made several tumblers of punch for me, which I had gulped 
down without saying a word. “ Don’t ye think ye’d be more easy 
in bed than snorting and sighing there on my sofa, and groaning fit 
to make me go hang myself] ” 

“I am thinking, Blake,” says I, “about Pumpernickel, where 
old Speck gave you this pipe.” 

“ ’Deed he did,” replies the young man ; “ and did ye know the 
old Bar’n ? ” 

“ I did,” said I. “ My friend, I have been by the banks of the 
Bendemeer. Tell me, are the nightingales still singing there, and 
do the roses still bloom ? ” 

“ The hwhat ? ” cries Blake. “ What the diwle, Fitz, are you 
growling about? Bendemeer Lake’s in Westmoreland, as I pre- 
shume ; and as for roses and nightingales, I give ye my word it’s 
Greek ye’re talking to me.” And Greek it very possibly was, for 
my young friend, though as good across country as any man in his 
county, has not the fine feeling and tender perception of beauty 
which may be found elsewhere, dear madam. 

“ Tell me about Speck, Blake, and Kalbsbraten, and Dorothea, 
and Klingenspohr her husband.” 

“ He with the cut across the nose, is it?” cries Blake. “I know 
him well, and his old wife.” 

“ His old what, sir ! ” cries Fitz-Boodle, jumping up from his 
seat. “ Klingenspohr’s wife old!— Is he married again? — Is 
Dorothea, then, d-d-dead?” 

“ Dead ! — no more dead than you are, only I take her to be five- 
and-thirtv. And when a woman has had nine children, you know, 


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THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


she looks none the younger ; and I can tell ye, that when she trod 
on my corruns at a ball at the Grand Juke’s, I felt something heavier 
than a feather on my foot.” 

“Madame de Klingenspohr, then,” replied I, hesitating somewhat, 
“ has grown rather — rather st-st-out 1 ” I could hardly get out the 
out, and trembled I don’t know why as I asked the question. 

“ Stout, begad ! — she weighs fourteen stone, saddle and bridle. 
That’s right, down goes my pipe ; flop ! crash falls the tumbler into 
the fender ! Break away, my boy, and remember, whoever breaks a 
glass here pays a dozen.” 

The fact was, that the announcement of Dorothea’s changed con- 
dition caused no small disturbance within me, and I expressed it 
in the abrupt manner mentioned by young Blake. 

Roused thus from my reverie, I questioned the young fellow 
about his residence at Kalbsbraten, which has been always since 
the war a favourite place for our young gentry, and heard with 
some satisfaction that Potzdorff was married to the Behrenstein, 
Haarbart had left the dragoons, the Crown Prince had broken with 

the but mum ! of what interest are all these details to the 

reader, who has never been at friendly little Kalbsbraten 1 

Presently Lynch reaches me down one of the three books that 
formed his library (the “ Racing Calendar ” and a book of fishing- 
flies making up the remainder of the set). “And there’s my 
album,” says he. “You’ll find plenty of hands in it that you’ll 
recognise, as you are an old Pumpernickelaner.” And so I did, in 
truth : it was a little book after the fashion of German albums, in 
which good simple little ledger every friend or acquaintance of the 
owner inscribes a poem or stanza from some favourite poet or 
philosopher with the transcriber’s own name, as thus : — 

“To the true house-friend, and beloved Irelandish youth. 

“ ‘ Sera nunquam est ad bonos mores via .’ 

“ Wackerbart, Professor at the Grand-Ducal 

Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickelisch Gymnasium. ” 

Another writes, — 

“ ‘ Wander on roses and forget me not. } 

“ Amalia v. Nachtmutze, 

GEB. V. SCHLAFROCK,” 

with a flourish, and the picture mayhap of a rose. Let the reader 
imagine some hundreds of these interesting inscriptions, and he will 
have an idea of the book. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


327 


Turning over the leaves I came presently on Dorothea's hand. 
There it was, the little neat pretty handwriting, the dear old up- 
and-down strokes that I had not looked at for many a long year, — 
the Mediterranean heath, which grew on the sunniest banks of Fitz- 
Boodle’s existence, and here found, dear dear little sprig ! in rude 
Galwagian bog-lands. 

“Look at the other side of the page,” says Lynch, rather 
sarcastically (for I don’t care to confess that I kissed the name of 
“ Dorothea v. Klingenspohr, bom v. Speck ” written under an 
extremely feeble passage of verse). “Look at the other side of 
the paper ! ” 

I did, and what do you think I saw 1 

I saw the writing of five of the little Klingenspohrs, who have 
all sprung up since my time. 


“ Ha ! ha ! haw ! ” screamed the impertinent young Irishman ; 
- — and the story was all over Connemara and Joyce’s Country in a 
day after. 


CHAPTER II 

OTTILIA IN' PARTICULAR 

S OME kind critic who peruses these writings will, doubtless, 
have the goodness to point out that the simile of the Mediter- 
ranean heath is applied to two personages in this chapter — to 
Ottilia and Dorothea, and say, Psha ! the fellow is but a poor un- 
imaginative creature not to be able to find a simile apiece at least 
for the girls : how much better would we have done the business ! 

Well, it is a very pretty simile. The girls were rivals, were 
beautiful, I loved them both, — which should have the sprig of heath *? 
Mr. Cruikshank (who has taken to serious painting) is getting ready 
for the Exhibition a fine piece, representing Fitz-Boodle on the 
Urrisbeg Mountain, county Galway, Ireland, with a sprig of heath 
in his hand, hesitating, like Paris, on which of the beauties he should 
bestow it. In the background is a certain animal between two 
bundles of hay ; but that I take to represent the critic, puzzled to 
which of my young beauties to assign the choice. 

If Dorothea had been as rich as Miss Coutts, and had come to 
me the next day after the accident at the ball and said, “ George, 
will you marry me 1 ” it must not be supposed I would have done 
any such thing. That dream had vanished for ever : rage and 
pride took the place of love ; and the only chance I had of recover- 
ing from my dreadful discomfiture was by bearing it bravely, and 
trying, if possible, to awaken a little compassion in my favour. I 
limped home (arranging my scheme with great presence of mind as 
I actually sat spinning there on the ground) — I limped home, sent 
for Pflastersticken, the Court-surgeon, and addressed him to the 
following effect : “ Pflastersticken,” says I, “ there has been an 
accident at Court of which you will hear. You will send in leeches, 
pills, and the deuce knows what, and you will say that I have 
dislocated my leg : for some days you will state that I am in con- 
siderable danger. You are a good fellow and a man of courage I 
know, for which very reason you can appreciate those qualities in 
another ; so mind, if you breathe a word of my secret, either you or 
I must lose a life.” 

Away went the surgeon, and the next day all Kalbsbraten knew 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 329 

that I was on the point of death : I had been delirious all night, 
had had eighty leeches, besides I don’t know how much medicine ; 
but the Kalbsbrateners knew to a scruple. Whenever anybody was 
ill, this little kind society knew what medicines were prescribed. 
Everybody in the town knew what everybody had for dinner. If 
Madame Rumpel had her satin dyed ever so quietly, the whole 
society was on the qui vive ; if Countess Pultuski sent to Berlin for 
a new set of teeth, not a person in Kalbsbraten but what was ready 
to compliment her as she put them on ; if Potzdorff paid his tailor’s 
bill, or Muffinstein bought a piece of black wax for his moustaches, 
it was the talk of the little city. And so, of course, was my 
accident. In their sorrow for my misfortune, Dorothea’s was quite 
forgotten, and those eighty leeches saved me. I became interesting ; 
I had cards left at my door ; and I kept my room for a fortnight, 
during which time I read every one of Monsieur Kotzebue’s plays. 

At the end of that period I was convalescent, though still a little 
lame. I called at old Speck’s house and apologised for my clumsiness, 
with the most admirable coolness ; I appeared at Court, and stated 
calmly that I did not intend to dance any more ; and when Klingen- 
spohr grinned, I told that young gentleman such a piece of my mind as 
led to his wearing a large sticking-plaster patch on his nose : which 
was split as neatly down the middle as you would split an orange at 
dessert. In a word, what man could do to repair my defeat, I did. 

There is but one thing now of which I am ashamed — of those 
killing epigrams which I wrote ( mon Dieu ! must I own it 1 — but 
even the fury of my anger proves the extent of my love !) against 
the Speck family. They were handed about in confidence at Court, 
and made a frightful sensation : — 

“ Is it possible ? 

“There happened at Schloss P-mp-rn-ckel, 

A strange mishap our sides to tickle, 

And set the people in a roar ; — 

A strange caprice of Fortune fickle : 

I never thought at Pumpernickel 
To see a Speck upon the floor/” 

“ La Per fide Albion; or , A Caution to Waltzers . 

“ * Come to the dance/ the Briton said, 

And forward D-r-th-a led, 

Fair, fresh, and three-and-twenty ! 

Ah, girls, beware of Britons red ! 

What wonder that it turned her head ? 

Sat verbum sapienti.” 


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THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


“ Reasons for not Marrying. 

“ 1 The lovely Miss S. 

Will surely say “ yes,” 

You’ve only to ask and try ; ’ 

‘That subject we’ll quit,’ 

Says Georgy the wit, 

' I’ve a much better Spec in my eye!' ” 

This last epigram especially was voted so killing that it flew like 
wildfire; and I know for a fact that our Charged’ Affaires at 
Kalbsbraten sent a courier express with it to the Foreign Office in 
England, whence, through our amiable Foreign Secretary, Lord 
P-lm-rston, it made its way into every fashionable circle : nay, I 
have reason to believe caused a smile on the cheek of K-y-lty itself. 
Now that Time has taken away the sting of these epigrams, there 
can be no harm in giving them ; and ’twas well enough then to 
endeavour to hide under the lash of wit the bitter pangs of humilia- 
tion : but my heart bleeds now to think that I should have ever 
brought a tear on the gentle cheek of Dorothea. 

Not content with this — with humiliating her by satire, and with 
wounding her accepted lover across the nose— I determined to carry 
my revenge still farther, and to fall in love with somebody else. 
This person was Ottilia v. Schlippenschlopp. 

Otlio Sigismund Freyherr von Schlippenschlopp, Knight Grand 
Cross of the Ducal Order of the Two-Necked Swan of Pumpernickel, of 
the Porc-et-Sifflet of Kalbsbraten, Commander of the George and Blue- 
Boar of Dummerland, Excellency, and High Chancellor of the United 
Duchies, lived in the second-floor of a house in the Schnapsgasse ; 
where, with his private income and his revenues as Chancellor, 
amounting together to some three hundred pounds per annum, he 
maintained such a state as very few other officers of the Grand-Ducal 
Crown could exhibit. The Baron is married to Maria Antoinetta, 
a Countess of the house of Kartoffelstadt, branches of which have 
taken root all over Germany. He has no sons, and but one 
daughter, the Fraulein Ottilia. 

The Chancellor is a worthy old gentleman, too fat and wheezy to 
preside at the Privy Council, fond of his pipe, his ease, and his rubber. 
His lady is a very tall and pale Roman-nosed Countess, who looks 
as gentle as Mrs. Robert Roy, where, in the novel, she is for putting 
Bailie Nicol Jarvie into the lake, and who keeps the honest Chancellor 
in the greatest order. The Fraulein Ottilia had not arrived at 
Kalbsbraten when the little affair between me and Dorothea was 
going on; or rather had only just come in for the conclusion of it, 
being presented for the first time that year at the ball where I — 
where I met with my accident. 


FIT Z -BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 33 1 

At the time when the Countess was young, it was not the fashion 
in her country to educate the young ladies so highly as since they 
have been educated ; and provided they could waltz, sew, and make 
puddings, they were thought to be decently bred ; being seldom called 
upon for algebra or Sanscrit in the discharge of the honest duties of 
their lives. But Fraulein Ottilia was of the modern school in this 
respect, and came back from her pension at Strasburg speaking all 
the languages, dabbling in all the sciences : an historian, a poet, — 
a blue of the ultramarinest sort, in a word. What a difference there 
was, for instance, between poor simple Dorothea’s love of novel- 
reading and the profound encyclopaedic learning of Ottilia ! 

Before the latter arrived from Strasburg (where she had been 
under the care of her aunt the canoness, Countess Ottilia of 
Kartoffelstadt, to whom I here beg to offer my humblest respects), 
Dorothea had passed for a bel esprit in the little Court circle, and 
her little simple stock of accomplishments had amused us all very 
well. She used to sing “ Herz, mein Herz ” and “ T’en souviens- 
tu % ” in a decent manner ( once , before Heaven, I thought her 
singing better than Grisi’s), and then she had a little album in 
which she drew flowers, and used to embroider slippers wonderfully, 
and was very merry at a game of loto or forfeits, and had a hundred 
small agrements de society which rendered her an acceptable 
member of it. 

But when Ottilia arrived, poor Dolly’s reputation was crushed 
in a month. The former wrote poems both in French and German ; 
she painted landscapes and portraits in real oil ; and she twanged 
off a rattling piece of Liszt or Kalkbrenner in such a brilliant way, 
that Dora scarcely dared to touch the instrument after her, or 
venture, after Ottilia had trilled and gurgled through “Una voce,” 
or “ Di piacer ” (Rossini was in fashion then), to lift up her little 
modest pipe in a ballad. What was the use of the poor thing going 
to sit in the Park, where so many of the young officers used ever to 
gather round her 1 Whirr ! Ottilia went by galloping on a chest- 
nut mare with a groom after her, and presently all the young fellows 
who could buy or hire horseflesh were prancing in her train. 

When they met, Ottilia would bounce towards her soul’s 
darling, and put her hands round her waist, and call her by a 
thousand affectionate names, and then talk of her as only ladies or 
authors can talk of one another. How tenderly she would hint at 
Dora’s little imperfections of education ! — how cleverly she would 
insinuate that the poor girl had no wit ! and, thank God, no more 
she had. The fact is, that do what I will I see I’m in love with 
her still, and would be if she had fifty children ; but my passion 
blinded me then, and every arrow that fiery Ottilia discharged I 


332 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


marked with savage joy. Dolly, thank Heaven, didn’t mind the 
wit much ; she was too simple for that. But still the recurrence 
of it would leave in her heart a vague indefinite feeling of pain, 
and somehow she began to understand that her empire was passing 
away, and that her dear friend hated her like poison ; and so she 
married Klingenspohr. I have written myself almost into a recon- 
ciliation with the silly fellow ; for the truth is, he has been a good 
honest husband to her ; and she has children, and makes puddings, 
and is happy. 

Ottilia was pale and delicate. She wore her glistening black 
hair in bands, and dressed in vapoury white muslin. She sang her 
own words to her harp, and they commonly insinuated that she 
was alone in the world, — that she suffered some inexpressible and 
mysterious heart-pangs, the lot of all finer geniuses, — that though 
she lived and moved in the world she was not of it, — that she was 
of a consumptive tendency and might look for a premature inter- 
ment. She even had fixed on the spot where she should lie : the 
violets grew there, she said, the river went moaning by ; the grey 
willow whispered sadly over her head, and her heart jrined to be at 
rest. “Mother,” she would say, turning to her parent, “promise 
me — promise me to lay me in that spot when the parting hour has 
come ! ” At which Madame de Schlippenschlopp would shriek, and 
grasp her in her arms; and at which, I confess, I would myself 
blubber like a child. She had six darling friends at school, and 
every courier from Kalbsbraten carried off whole reams of her 
letter-paper. 

In Kalbsbraten, as in every other German town, there are a 
vast number of literary characters, of whom our young friend 
quickly became the chief. They set up a literary journal, which 
appeared once a week, upon light-blue or primrose paper, and 
which, in compliment to the lovely Ottilia’s maternal name, was 
called the Kartoffelnkranz. Here are a couple of her ballads 
extracted from the Kranz , and by far the most cheerful specimen 
of her style. For in her songs she never would willingly let off 
the heroiues without a suicide or a consumption. She never would 
hear of such a thing as a happy marriage, and had an appetite for 
grief quite amazing in so young a person. As for her dying and 
desiring to be buried under the willow-tree, of which the first ballad 
is the subject, though I believed the story then, I have at present 
some doubts about it. For, since the publication of my Memoirs, 
I have been thrown much into the society of literary persons (who 
admire my style hugely), and egad ! though some of them are dismal 
enough in their works, I find them in their persons the least senti- 
mental class that ever a gentleman fell in with. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


333 


THE WILLOW-TREE. 

“ Know ye the willow- tree 
Whose grey leaves quiver, 
Whispering gloomily 
To yon pale river ? 

Lady, at eventide 
Wander not near it : 

They say its branches hide 
A sad lost spirit ! 


Once to the willow-tree 
A maid came fearful, 

Pale seemed her cheek to be, 
Her blue eye tearful ; 

Soon as she saw the tree, 

Her step moved fleeter. 

No one was there — ah me ! 
No one to meet her ! 


Quick beat her heart to hear 
The far bell’s chime 
Toll from the chapel-tower 
The trysting-time : 

But the red sun went down 
In golden flame, 

And though she looked round, 
Yet no one came ! 


Presently came the night 
Sadly to greet her, — 
Moon in her silver light, 
Stars in their glitter. 
Then sank the moon away 
Under the billow, 

Still wept the maid alone— 
There by the willow ! 


Through the long darkness, 
By the stream rolling, 
Hour after hour went on 
Tolling and tolling. 

Long was the darkness, 
Lonely and stilly ; 

Shrill came the night-wind, 
Piercing and chilly. 


334 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


Shrill blew the morning breeze, 

Biting and cold, 

Bleak peers the grey dawn 
Over the wold. 

Bleak over moor and stream 
Looks the grey dawn, 

Grey, with dishevelled hair, 

Still stands the willow there — 

The maid is gone ! 

% 

Domine, Domine! 

Sing we a litany , — 

Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and iceary ; 

Domine, Domine! 

Sing we a litany, 

Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere /” 

One of the chief beauties of this ballad (for the translation of which 
I received some well-merited compliments) is the delicate way in 
which the suicide of the poor young woman under the willow-tree 
is hinted at ; for that she threw herself into the water and became 
one among the lilies of the stream, is as clear as a pikestaff. Her 
suicide is committed some time in the darkness, when the slow hours 
move on tolling and tolling, and is hinted at darkly as befits the 
time and the deed. 

But that unromantic brute Van Cutsem, the Dutch Chargd- 
d’ Affaires, sent to the Kartoffelnkranz of the week after a con- 
clusion of the ballad, which shows what a poor creature he must be. 
His pretext for writing it was, he said, because he could not bear 
such melancholy endings to poems and young women, and therefore 
he submitted the following lines : — 


“ Long by the willow-trees 
Vainly they sought her, 

Wild rang the mother’s screams 
O’er the grey water : 

‘Where is my lovely one ? 
Where is my daughter ] 

II. 

‘ Rouse thee, Sir Constable — 
Rouse thee and lock ; 
Fisherman, bring your net, 
Boatman, your hook. 

Beat in the lily-beds, 

Dive in the brook ! * 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 


335 


hi. 

Vainly the constable 
Shouted and called her ; 
Vainly the fisherman 
Beat the green alder ; 
Vainly he flung the net, 
Never it hauled her ! 


IV. 

Mother, beside the fire 
Sat, her nightcap in ; 
Father, in easy-chair, 
Gloomily napping ; 
When at the window-sill 
Came a light tapping ! 


V. 

And a pale countenance 
Looked through the casement. 
Loud beat the mother’s heart, 
Sick with amazement ; 

And at the vision, which 
Came to surprise her, 

Shrieked in an agony — 

* Lor’ ! it’s Elizar ! ’ 


VI. 

Yes, t’was Elizabeth — 

Yes, ’twas their girl ; 

Pale was her cheek, and her 
Hair out of curl. 

‘ Mother ! ’ the loving one, 
Blushing, exclaimed, 

* Let not your innocent 
Lizzy be blamed. 


VII. 

‘Yesterday, going to Aunt 
Jones’s to tea, 

Mother, dear mother, I 
Forgot the door-key / 
And as the night was cold, 
And the way steep, 

Mrs. Jones kept me to 
Breakfast and sleep.’ 


336 ' 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


VIII. 

Whether her Pa and Ma 
Fully believed her, 

That we shall never know : 

Stern they received her ; 
And for the work of that 
Cruel, though short, night. 
Sent to her bed without 
Tea for a fortnight. 


IX. 


MORAL. 

Hey diddle diddlety, 

Cat and the Fiddlety, 

Maidens of England, take caution by she ! 

Let love and suicide 
Never tempt you aside, 

And always remember to take the door-key !” 

Some people laughed at this parody and even preferred it to the 
original; but for myself I have no patience with the individual 
who can turn the finest sentiments of our nature into ridicule, and 
make everything sacred a subject of scorn. The next ballad is less 
gloomy than that of “ The Willow-Tree,” and in it the lovely writer 
expresses her longing for what has charmed us all, and, as it were, 
squeezes the whole spirit of the fairy tale into a few stanzas : — 


FAIRY DAYS. 

“ Beside the old hall-fire — upon my nurse’s knee, 

Of happy fairy days — what tales were told to me ! 

I thought the world was once — all peopled with princesses, 

And my heart would beat to hear — their loves and their distresses ; 
And many a quiet night, — in slumber sweet and deep, 

The pretty fairy people — would visit me in sleep. 

I saw them in my dreams — come flying east and west, 

With wondrous fairy gifts — the new-born babe they bless’d ; 

One has brought a jewel — and one a crown of gold, 

And one has brought a curse — but she is wrinkled and old. 

The gentle queen turns pale — to hear those words of sin, 

But the king he only laughs — and bids the dance begin. 

The babe has grown to be — the fairest of the land, 

And rides the forest green — a hawk upon her hand. 


337 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 

An ambling palfrey white— a golden robe and crown ; 

I’ve seen her in my dreams— riding up and down ; 

And heard the ogre laugh— as she fell into his snare, 

At the little tender creature — who wept and tore her hair ! 

But ever when it seemed— her need was at the sorest 
A prince in shining mail — comes prancing through the forest. 

A waving ostrich-plume — a buckler burnished bright ; 

I’ve seen him in my dreams— good sooth ! a gallant knight. 

His lips are coral red— beneath a dark moustache : 

See how he waves his hand — and how his blue eyes flash . 

‘ Come forth, thou Paynim knight ! * he shouts in accents clear. 
The giant and the maid — both tremble his voice to hear. 

Saint Mary guard him well ! — he draws his falchion keen, 

The giant and the knight — are fighting on the green. 

I see them in my dreams — his blade gives stroke on stroke, 

The giant pants and reels — and tumbles like an oak ! 

With what a blushing grace — he falls upon his knee 
And takes the lady’s hand — and whispers, ‘ You are free ! ’ 

Ah ! happy childish tales — of knight and faerie ! 

I waken from my dreams — but there’s ne’er a knight for me ; 

I waken from my dreams — and wish that I could be 
A child by the old hall-fire — upon my nurse’s knee.” 


Indeed, Ottilia looked like a fairy herself : pale, small, slim, and 
airy. You could not see her face, as it were, for her eyes, which 
were so wild, and so tender, and shone so that they would have 
dazzled an eagle, much more a poor goose of a Fitz-Boodle. In 
the theatre, when she sat on the opposite side of the house, those 
big eyes used to pursue me as I sat pretending to listen to the 
“ Zauberflote,” or to “Don Carlos,” or “ Egmont,” and at the 
tender passages, especially, they would have such a winning, weep- 
ing, imploring look with them, as flesh and blood could not bear. 

Shall I tell you how I became a poet for the dear girl’s sake 1 
’Tis surely unnecessary after the reader has perused the above 
versions of her poems. Shall I tell what wild follies I committed 
in prose as well as in verse % how I used to watch under her window 
of icy evenings, and with chilblainy fingers sing serenades to her on 
the guitar ? Shall I tell how, in a sledging-party, I had the happi- 
ness to drive her, and of the delightful privilege which is, on these 
occasions, accorded to the driver 1 ? 

Any reader who has spent a winter in Germany perhaps knows 
it. A large party of a score or more of sledges is formed. Away 
they go to some pleasure-house that has been previously fixed upon, 
where a ball and collation are prepared, and where each man, as his 


338 THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

partner descends, has the delicious privilege of saluting her. 0 
heavens and earth ! I may grow to be a thousand years old, but I 
can never forget the capture of that salute. 

“ The keen air has given me an appetite,” said the dear angel, 
as we entered the supper-room ; and to say the truth, fairy as she 
was, she made a remarkably good meal — consuming a couple of 
basins of white soup, several kinds of German sausages, some 
Westphalia ham, some white puddings, an anchovy-salad made with 
cornichons and onions, sweets innumerable, and a considerable 
quantity of old Steinwein and rum-punch afterwards. Then she 
got up and danced as brisk as a fairy; in which operation I of 
course did not follow her, but had the honour, at the close of the 
evening’s amusement, once more to have her by my side in the 
sledge, as we swept in the moonlight over the snow. 

Kalbsbraten is a very hospitable place as far as tea-parties 
are concerned, but I never was in one where dinners were so 
scarce. At the palace they occurred twice or thrice in a month ; 
but on these occasions spinsters were not invited, and I seldom 
had the opportunity of seeing my Ottilia except at evening 
parties. 

Nor are these, if the truth must be told, very much to my 
taste. Dancing I have forsworn, whist is too severe a study for 
me, and I do not like to play dearth with old ladies, who are sure 
to cheat you in the course of an evening’s play. 

But to have an occasional glance at Ottilia was enough ; and 
many and many a napoleon did I lose to her mamma, Madame de 
Schlippenschlopp, for the blest privilege of looking at her daughter. 
Many is the tea-party I went to, shivering into cold clothes after 
dinner (which is my abomination) in order to have one little look 
at the lady of my soul. 

At these parties there were generally refreshments of a nature 
more substantial than mere tea — punch, both milk and rum, hot 
wine, consomme, and a peculiar and exceedingly disagreeable sand- 
wich made of a mixture of cold white puddings and garlic, of which 
I have forgotten the name, and always detested the savour. 

Gradually a conviction came upon me that Ottilia ate a great 
deal. 

I do not dislike to see a woman eat comfortably. I even think 
that an agreeable woman ought to be friande, and should love certain 
little dishes and knicknacks. I know that though at dinner they 
commonly take nothing, they have had roast-mutton with the 
children at two, and laugh at their pretensions to starvation. 

No ! a woman who eats a grain of rice, like Amina in the 
“ Arabian Nights,” is absurd and unnatural ; but there is a modus 


FITZ-BOODLE’S CONFESSIONS 339 

in rebus : there is no reason why she should be a ghoul, a monster, 
an ogress, a horrid gormandiseress — faugh ! 

It was, then, with a rage amounting almost to agony, that I 
found Ottilia ate too much at every meal. She was always eating, 
and always eating too much. If I went there in the morning, there 
w T as the horrid familiar odour of those oniony sandwiches ; if in the 
afternoon, dinner had been just removed, and I was choked by 
reeking reminiscences of roast-meat. Tea we have spoken of. She 
gobbled up more cakes than any six people present ; then came the 
supper and the sandwiches again, and the egg-flip and the horrible 
rum-punch. 

She was as thin as ever — paler if possible than ever : — but, by 
heavens ! her nose began to grow red ! 

Mon Dieu ! how I used to watch and watch it ! Some days 
it was purple, some days had more of the vermilion — I could 
take an affidavit that after a heavy night’s supper it was more 
swollen, more red than before. 

I recollect one night when we were playing a round game (I 
had been looking at her nose very eagerly and sadly for some time), 
she of herself brought up the conversation about eating, and con- 
fessed that she had five meals a day. 

“ That accounts for it ! ” says I, flinging down the cards, and 
springing up and rushing like a madman out of the room. I rushed 
away into the night, and wrestled with my passion. “ What ! 
Marry,” said I, “a woman who eats meat twenty-one times in a » 
week, besides breakfast and tea 1 Marry a sarcophagus, a cannibal, 
a butcher’s shop ? — Away ! ” I strove and strove. I drank, I 

groaned, I wrestled and fought with my love — but it overcame me : 
one look of those eyes brought me to her feet again. I yielded 
myself up like a slave ; I fawned and whined for her ; I thought 
her nose was not so very red. 

Things came to this pitch that I sounded his Highness’s Minister 
to know whether he would give me service in the Duchy ; I thought 
of purchasing an estate there. I was given to understand that I 
should get a chambejrlain’s key and some post of honour did I choose 
to remain, and I even wrote home to my brother Tom in England, 
hinting a change in my condition. 

At this juncture the town of Hamburg sent his Highness the 
Grand Duke (a propos of a commercial union which was pending 
between the two States) a singular present : no less than a certain 
number of barrels of oysters, which are considered extreme luxuries 
in Germany, especially in the inland parts of the country, where 
they are almost unknown. 

In honour of the oysters and the new commercial treaty (which 


340 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


arrived in fourgons despatched for the purpose), his Highness 
announced a grand supper and ball, and invited all the quality of 
all the principalities round about. It was a splendid affair : the 
grand saloon brilliant with hundreds of uniforms and brilliant 
toilettes — not the least beautiful among them, I need not say, was 
Ottilia. 

At midnight the supper-rooms were thrown open, and we formed 
into little parties of six, each having a table, nobly served with 
plate, a lacquey in attendance, and a gratifying ice-pail or two of 
champagne to egayer the supper. It was no small cost to serve five 
hundred people on silver, and the repast was certainly a princely 
and magnificent one. 

I had, of course, arranged with Mademoiselle de Schlippen- 
schlopp. Captains Frumpel and Fridelberger of the Duke’s Guard, 
Mesdames de Butterbrod and Bopp, formed our little party. 

The first course, of course, consisted of the oysters. Ottilia’s 
eyes gleamed with double brilliancy as the lacquey opened them. 
There were nine apiece for us — how well I recollect the number ! 

I never was much of an oyster-eater, nor can I relish them in 
naturalibus as some do, but require a quantity of sauces, lemons, 
cayenne peppers, bread and butter, and so forth, to render them 
palatable. 

By the time I had made my preparations, Ottilia, the Captains, 
and the two ladies, had well-nigh finished theirs. Indeed Ottilia 
» had gobbled up all hers, and there were only my nine left in the 
dish. 

I took one — it was bad. The scent of it was enough, — they 
were all bad. Ottilia had eaten nine bad oysters. 

I put down the horrid shell. Her eyes glistened more and 
more ; she could not take them off the tray. 

“ Dear Herr George,” she said, “ will you give me your 
oysters ? ” 


She had them all down — before — I could say — Jack — Robinson ! 
I left Kalbsbraten that night, and have never been there since. 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 

BEING APPEALS TO THE UNEMPLOYED YOUNGER SONS 
OF THE NOBILITY 


FIRST PROFESSION 



HE fair and honest proposition in which I offered to com- 


municate privately with parents and guardians, relative to 


A two new and lucrative professions which I had discovered, 
has, I find from the publisher, elicited not one single inquiry from 
those personages, who I can’t but think are very little careful of 
their children’s welfare to allow such a chance to be thrown away. 
It is not for myself I speak, as my conscience proudly tells me ; for 
though I actually gave up Ascot in order to be in the way should 
any father of a family be inclined to treat with me regarding my 
discoveries, yet I am grieved, not on my own account, but on theirs, 
and for the wretched penny-wise policy that has held them back. 

That they must feel an interest in my announcement is un- 
questionable. Look at the way in which the public prints of all 
parties have noticed my appearance in the character of a literary 
man 1 ? Putting aside my personal narrative, look at the offer I 
made to the nation, — a choice of no less than two new professions ! 
Suppose I had invented as many new kinds of butcher’s-meat : does 
any one pretend that the world, tired as it is of the perpetual 
recurrence of beef, mutton, veal, cold beef, cold veal, cold mutton, 
hashed ditto, would not have jumped eagerly at the delightful 
intelligence that their old, stale, stupid meals were about to be 
varied at last ] 

Of course people would have come forward. I should have had 
deputations from Mr. Gibletts and the fashionable butchers of this 
world ; petitions would have poured in from Whitechapel salesmen ; 
the speculators panting to know the discovery : the cautious with 
stock in hand eager to bribe me to silence and prevent the certain 
depreciation of the goods which they already possessed. I should 
have dealt with them, not greedily or rapaciously, but on honest 


342 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


principles of fair barter. “Gentlemen,” I should have said, or 
rather “Gents” — which affectionate diminutive is, I am given to 
understand, at present much in use among commercial persons — 
“Gents, my researches, my genius, or my good fortune, have 
brought me to the valuable discovery about which you are come to 
treat. Will you purchase it outright, or will you give the dis- 
coverer an honest share of the profits resulting from your specula- 
tion? My position in the world puts me out of the power of 
executing the vast plan I have formed, but ’twill be a certain 
fortune to him who engages in it ; and why should not I, too, par- 
ticipate in that fortune ? ” 

Such would have been my manner of dealing with the world, 
too, with regard to my discovery of the new professions. Does not 
the world want new professions 1 Are there not thousands of well- 
educated men panting, struggling, pushing, starving, in the old ones ? 
Grim tenants of chambers looking out for attorneys who never come ? 
— wretched physicians practising the stale joke of being called out 
of church until people no longer think fit even to laugh or to pity ? 
Are there not hoary-headed midshipmen, antique ensigns growing 
mouldy upon fifty years’ half-pay ? Nay, are there not men who 
would pay anything to be employed rather than remain idle ? But 
such is the glut of professionals, the horrible cut-throat competition 
among them, that there is no chance for one in a thousand, be he 
ever so willing, or brave, or clever : in the great ocean of life he 
makes a few strokes, and puffs, and sputters, and sinks, and the 
innumerable waves overwhelm him, and he is heard of no more. 

Walking to my banker’s t’other day — and I pledge my sacred 
honour this story is true — I met a young fellow whom I had known 
attach^ to an embassy abroad, a young man of tolerable parts, un- 
wearied patience, with some fortune too, and, moreover, allied to 
a noble Whig family, whose interest had procured him his appoint- 
ment to the legation at Krahwinkel, where I knew him. He 
remained for ten years a diplomatic character ; he was the working 
man of the legation : he sent over the most diffuse translations of 
the German papers for the use of the Foreign Secretary : he signed 
passports with most astonishing ardour ; he exiled himself for ten 
long years in a wretched German town, dancing attendance at 
Court-balls and paying no end of money for uniforms. And for 
what ? At the end of the ten years — during which period of labour 
he never received a single shilling from the Government which 
employed him (rascally spendthrift of a Government, va /), — he was 
offered the paid attachdship to the Court of H.M. the King of the 
Mosquito Islands, and refused that appointment a week before the 
Whig Ministry retired. Then he knew that there was no further 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 343 

cliance for him, and incontinently quitted the diplomatic service for 
ever, and I have no doubt will sell his uniform a bargain. The 
Government had him a bargain certainly ; nor is he by any means 
the first person who has been sold at that price. 

Well, my worthy friend met me in the street and informed me 
of these facts with a smiling countenance, — which I thought a 
masterpiece of diplomacy. Fortune had been belabouring and 
kicking him for ten whole years, and here he was grinning in my 
face : could Monsieur de Talleyrand have acted better? “I have given 
up diplomacy,” said Protocol, quite simply and good-humouredly, 
“ for between you and me, my good fellow, it’s a very slow profes- 
sion ; sure perhaps, but slow. But though I gained no actual 
pecuniary remuneration in the service, I have learned all the lan- 
guages in Europe, which will be invaluable to me in my new pro- 
fession — the mercantile one — in which directly I looked out for a 
post I found one.” 

“ What ! and a good pay ? ” said I. 

“Why, no ; that’s absurd, you know. No young men, strangers 
to business, are paid much to speak of. Besides, I don’t look to a 
paltry clerk’s pay. Some day, when thoroughly acquainted with 
the business (I shall learn it in about seven years), I shall go into a 
good house with my capital and become junior partner. 

“ And meanwdiile ? ” 

“ Meanwhile I conduct the foreign correspondence of the eminent 
house of Jam, Ram, and Johnson ; and very heavy it is, I can tell 
you. From nine till six every day, except foreign post days, and 
then from nine till eleven. Dirty dark court to sit in ; snobs to 
talk to, — great change, as you may fancy.” 

“ And you do all this for nothing?” 

“I do it to learn the business.” And so saying Protocol gave 
me a knowing nod and went his way. 

Good heavens ! I thought, and is this a true story ? Are there 
hundreds of young men in a similar situation at the present day, 
giving away the best years of their youth for the sake of a mere 
windy hope of something in old age, and dying before they come to 
the goal ? In seven years he hopes to have a business, and then to 
have the pleasure of risking his money ? He will be admitted into 
some great house as a particular favour, and three months after the 
house will fail. Has it not happened to a thousand of our acquaint- 
ance ? I thought I would run after him and tell him about the new 
professions that I have invented. 

“ Oh ! ay ! .those you wrote about in Fraser's Magazine. 
Egad ! George, Necessity makes strange fellow’s of us all. Who 
would ever have thought of you spelling , much more writing ? ” 


344 THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

“ Never mind that. Will you, if I tell you of a new profession 
that, with a little cleverness and instruction from me, you may bring 
to a most successful end — will you, I say, make me a fair return ? ” 

“ My dear creature,” replied young Protocol, “ what nonsense 
you talk ! I saw that very humbug in the Magazine. You say you 
have made a great discovery — very good ; you puff your discovery 
— very right ; you ask money for it — nothing can be more reason- 
able ; and then you say that you intend to make your discovery 
public in the next number of the Magazine. Do you think I will 
be such a fool as to give you money for a thing which I can have 
next month for nothing 1 Good-bye, George my boy ; the next dis- 
covery you make I’ll tell you how to get a better price for it.” 
And with this the fellow walked off, looking supremely knowing 
and clever. 

This tale of the person I have called Protocol is not told with- 
out a purpose, you may be sure. In the first place, it shows what 
are the reasons that nobody has made application to me concerning 
the new professions, namely, because I have passed my word to 
make them known in this Magazine, which persons may have for 
the purchasing, stealing, borrowing, or hiring, and, therefore, they 
will never think of applying personally to me. And, secondly, his 
story proves also my assertion, viz., that all professions are most 
cruelly crowded at present, and that men will make the most absurd 
outlay and sacrifices for the smallest chance of success at some future 
period. Well, then, I will be a benefactor to my race, if I cannot 
be to one single member of it, whom I love better than most men. 
What I have discovered I will make known; there shall be no 
shilly-shallying work here, no circumlocution, no bottle-conjuring 
business. But oh ! I wish for all our sakes that I had had an 
opportunity to impart the secret to one or two persons only ; for, 
after all, but one or two can live in the manner I would suggest. 
And when the discovery is made known, I am sure ten thousand 
will try. The rascals ! I can see their brass-plates gleaming over 
scores of doors. Competition will ruin my professions, as it has all 
others. 

It must be premised that the two professions are intended for 
gentlemen, and gentlemen only — men of birth and education. No 
others could support the parts which they will be called upon to 
play. 

And, likewise, it must be honestly confessed that these pro- 
fessions have, to a certain degree, been exercised before. Do not 
cry out at this and say it is no discovery ! I say it is a discovery. 
It is a discovery if I show you — a gentleman — a profession which 
you may exercise without derogation, or loss of standing, with 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 345 

certain profit, nay, possibly with honour, and of which, until the 
reading of this present page, you never thought but as of a calling 
beneath your rank and quite below your reach. Sir, I do not 
mean to say that I create a profession. I cannot create gold ; 
but if, when discovered, I find the means of putting it in your 
pocket, do I or do I not deserve credit ? 

I see you sneer contemptuously when I mention to you the word 
Auctioneer. “ Is this all,” you say, “ that this fellow brags and 
prates about ? An auctioneer, forsooth ! he might as well have 
4 invented ’ chimney-sweeping ! ” 

No such thing. A little boy of seven, be he ever so low of birth, 
can do this as well as you. Do you suppose that little stolen Master 
Montague made a better sweeper than the lowest-bred chummy that 
yearly commemorates his release? No, sir. And he might have 
been ever so much a genius or a gentleman, and not have been able 
to make his trade respectable. 

But all such trades as can be rendered decent the aristocracy 
has adopted one by one. At first they followed the profession of 
arms, flouting all others as unworthy, and thinking it ungentleman- 
like to know how to read or write. They did not go into the 
Church in very early days, till the money to be got from the 
Church was strong enough to tempt them. It is but of later years 
that they have condescended to go to the bar, and since the same 
time only that we see some of them following trades. I know 
an English lord’s son, who is, or was, a wine merchant (he may 
have been a bankrupt for what I know). As for bankers, several 
partners in banking-houses have four balls to their coronets, and I 
have no doubt that another sort of banking, viz., that practised by 
gentlemen who lend small sums of money upon deposited securities, 
will be one day followed by the noble order, so that they may have 
four balls on their coronets and carriages, and three in front of their 
shops. 

Yes, the nobles come peoplewards as the people, on the other 
hand, rise and mingle with the nobles. With the plebs , of course, 
Fitz-Boodle, in whose veins flows the blood of a thousand kings, 
can have nothing to do ; but, watching the progress of the world, 
’tis impossible to deny that the good old days of our race are passed 
away. We want money still as much as ever we did; but we 
cannot go down from our castles with horse and sword and waylay 
fat merchants — no, no, confounded new policemen and the assize 
courts prevent that. Younger brothers cannot be pages to noble 
houses, as of old they were, serving gentle dames without disgrace, 
handing my Lord’s rose-water to wash, or holding his stirrup as he 
mounted for the chase. A page, forsooth ! A pretty figure would 


346 ‘ 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


George Fitz-Boodle or any other man of fashion cut, in a jacket 
covered with sugar-loafed buttons, and handing in penny-post notes 
on a silver tray. The plebs have robbed us of that trade among 
others : nor, I confess, do I much grudge them their trouvaille. 
Neither can we collect together a few scores of free-lances, like 
honest Hugh Calverly in the Black Prince’s time, or brave Harry 
Butler of Wallenstein’s dragoons, and serve this or that prince, 
Peter the Cruel or Henry of Trastamare, Gustavus or the Emperor, 
at our leisure ; or, in default of service, fight and rob on our own 
gallant account, as the good gentlemen of old did. Alas ! no. In 
South America or Texas, perhaps, a man might have a chance that 
way ; but in the ancient world no man can fight except in the king’s 
service (and a mighty bad service that is too), and the lowest 
European sovereign, were it Baldomero Espartero himself, would 
think nothing of seizing the best-born condottiere that ever drew 
sword, and shooting him down like the vulgarest deserter. 

What, then, is to be done 1 ? We must discover fresh fields of 
enterprise — of peaceable and commercial enterprise in a peaceful and 
commercial age. I say, then, that the auctioneer’s pulpit has never 
yet been ascended by a scion of the aristocracy, and am prepared to 
prove that they might scale it, and do so with dignity and profit. 

For the auctioneer’s pulpit is just the peculiar place where a 
man of social refinement, of elegant wit, of polite perceptions, can 
bring his wit, his eloquence, his taste, and his experience of life, 
most delightfully into play. It is not like the bar, where the 
better and higher qualities of a man of fashion find no room for 
exercise. In defending John Jorrocks in an action of trespass, for 
cutting down a stick in Sam Snooks’s field, what powers of mind do 
you require % — powers of mind, that is, which Mr. Serjeant Snorter, 
a butcher’s son with a great loud voice, a sizar at Cambridge, a 
wrangler, and so forth, does not possess as well as yourself Snorter 
has never been in decent society in his life. He thinks the bar-mess 
the most fashionable assemblage in Europe, and the jokes of “ grand 
day ” the ne plus ultra of wit. Snorter lives near Russell Square, 
eats beef and Yorkshire pudding, is a judge of port wine, is in all 
social respects your inferior. Well, it is ten to one but in the case 
of Snooks v. Jorrocks, before mentioned, he will be a better advocate 
than you; he knows the law of the case entirely, and better 
probably than you. He can speak long, loud, to the point, gram- 
matically — more grammatically than you, no doubt, will condescend 
to do. In the case of Snooks v. Jorrocks he is all that can be 
desired. And so about dry disputes, respecting real property, he 
knows the law ; and, beyond this, has no more need to be a gentle- 
man than my body-servant has — who, by the way, from constant 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 347 

intercourse with the best society, is almost a gentleman. But this 
is apart from the question. 

Now, in the matter of auctioneering, this, I apprehend, is not the 
case, and I assert that a high-bred gentleman, with good powers of mind 
and speech, must, in such a profession, make a fortune. I do not 
mean in all auctioneering matters. I do not mean that such a 
person should be called upon to sell the good-will of a public- 
house, or discourse about the value of the beer-barrels, or bars 
with pewter fittings, or the beauty of a trade doing a stroke of 
so many hogsheads a week. I do not ask a gentleman to go down 
and sell pigs, ploughs, and cart-horses, at Stoke Pogis ; or to eidarge 
at the Auction Rooms, Wapping, upon the beauty of the Lively 
Sally schooner. These articles of commerce or use can be better 
appreciated by persons in a different rank of life to his. 

But there are a thousand cases in which a gentleman only can 
do justice to the sale of objects which the necessity or convenience 
of the genteel world may require to change hands. All articles 
properly called of taste should be put under his charge. Pictures, — 
he is a travelled man, has seen and judged the best galleries of 
Europe, and can speak of them as a common person cannot. For, 
mark you, you must have the confidence of your society, you must 
be able to be familiar with them, to plant a happy mot in a graceful 
manner, to appeal to my Lord or the Duchess in such a modest, easy, 
pleasant way as that her Grace should not be hurt by your allusion 
to her — nay, amused (like the rest of the company) by the manner 
in which it was done. 

What is more disgusting than the familiarity of a snob ? What 
more loathsome than the swaggering quackery of some present 
holders of the hammer? There was a late sale, for instance, which 
made some noise in the world (I mean the late Lord Gimcrack’s, at 
Dilberry Hill). Ah ! what an opportunity was lost there ! I 
declare solemnly that I believe, but for the absurd quackery and 
braggadocio of the advertisements, much more money would have 
been bid ; people were kept away by the vulgar trumpeting of the 
auctioneer, and could not help thinking the things were worthless 
that were so outrageously lauded. 

They say that sort of Bartholomew-fair advocacy (in which 
people are invited to an entertainment by the medium of a hoarse 
yelling beef-eater, twenty-four drums, and a jack-pudding turning 
head over heels), is absolutely necessary to excite the public attention. 
What an error ! I say that the refined individual so accosted is 
more likely to close his ears, and, shuddering, run away from the 
booth. Poor Horace Waddlepoodle ! to think that thy gentle 
accumulation of bric-a-brac should have passed away in such a 


348 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


manner, by means of a man who brings down a butterfly with a 
blunderbuss, and talks of a pin’s head through a speaking-trumpet ! 
Why, the auctioneer’s very voice was enough to crack the Sevres 
porcelain and blow the lace into annihilation. Let it be remem- 
bered that I speak of the gentleman in his public character merely, 
meaning to insinuate nothing more than I would by stating that 
Lord Brougham speaks with a northern accent, or that the voice of 
Mr. Sheil is sometimes unpleasantly shrill. 

Now the character I have formed to myself of a great auctioneer 
is this. I fancy him a man of first-rate and irreproachable birth 
and fashion. I fancy his person so agreeable that it must be a 
pleasure for ladies to behold and tailors to dress it. As a private 
man he must move in the very best society, which will flock round 
his pulpit when he mounts it in his public calling. It will be a 
privilege for vulgar people to attend the hall where he lectures; 
and they will consider it an honour to be allowed to pay their 
money for articles the value of which is stamped by his high recom- 
mendation. Nor can such a person be a mere fribble ; nor can any 
loose hanger-on of fashion imagine he may assume the character. 
The gentleman auctioneer must be an artist above all, adoring his 
profession ; and adoring it, what must he not know 1 He must 
have a good knowledge of the history and language of all nations ; 
not the knowledge of the mere critical scholar, but of the lively and 
elegant man of the world. He will not commit the gross blunders 
of pronunciation that untravelled Englishmen perpetrate; he will 
not degrade his subject by coarse eulogy, or sicken his audience 
with vulgar banter. He will know where to apply praise and wit 
properly ; he will have the tact only acquired in good society, and 
know where a joke is in place, and how far a compliment may go. 
He will not outrageously and indiscriminately laud all objects com- 
mitted to his charge, for he knows the value of praise; that 
diamonds, could we have them by the bushel, would be used as 
coals ; that, above all, he has a character of sincerity to support ; 
that he is not merely the advocate of the person who employs him, 
but that the public is his client too, who honours him and confides 
in him. Ask him to sell a copy of Raffaelle for an original; a 
trumpery modern Brussels counterfeit for real old Mechlin; some 
common French forged crockery for the old delightful delicate 
Dresden china ; and he w r ill quit you with scorn, or order his servant 
to show you the door of his study. 

Study, by the w r ay, — no, “study” is a vulgar word; every 
word is vulgar which a man uses to give the world an exaggerated 
notion of himself or his condition. When the wretched bagman, 
brought up to give evidence before Judge Coltman, was asked what 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 349 

his trade was, and replied that “ he represented the house of Dobson 
and Hobson,” he showed himself to be a vulgar mean-souled wretch, 
and was most properly reprimanded by his Lordship. To be a 
bagman is to be humble, but not of necessity vulgar. Pomposity 
is vulgar, to ape a higher rank than your own is vulgar, for an 
ensign of militia to call himself captain is vulgar, or for a bagman 
to style himself the “ representative ” of Dobson and Hobson. The 
honest auctioneer, then, will not call his room his study ; but his 
“ private room,” or his office, or whatever may be the phrase com- 
monly used among auctioneers. 

He will not for the same reason call himself (as once in a 
momentary feeling of pride and enthusiasm for the profession I 
thought he should) — he will not call himself an “advocate,” but 
an auctioneer. There is no need to attempt to awe people by 
big titles : let each man bear his own name without shame. And 
a very gentlemanlike and agreeable, though exceptional position (for 
it is clear that there cannot be more than two of the class), may 
the auctioneer occupy. 

He must not sacrifice his honesty, then, either for his own sake 
or his clients’, in any way, nor tell fibs about himself or them. He 
is by no means called upon to draw the longbow in their behalf ; 
all that his office obliges him to do — and let us hope his disposition 
will lead him to do it also — is to take a favourable, kindly, philan- 
thropic view of the world ; to say what can fairly be said by a good- 
natured and ingenious man in praise of any article for which he 
is desirous to awaken public sympathy. And how readily and 
pleasantly may this be done ! I will take upon myself, for instance, 
to write a eulogium upon So-and-So’s last novel, which shall be 
every word of it true ; and which work, though to some discontented 
spirits it might appear dull, may be shown to be really amusing and 
instructive, — nay, is amusing and instructive — to those who have 
the art of discovering where those precious qualities lie. 

An auctioneer should have the organ of truth large ; of imagina- 
tion and comparison, considerable ; of wit, great ; of benevolence, 
excessively large. 

And how happy might such a man be, and cause others to be ! 
He should go through the world laughing, merry, observant, kind- 
hearted. He should love everything in the world, because his pro- 
fession regards everything. With books of lighter literature (for I 
do not recommend the genteel auctioneer to meddle with heavy 
antiquarian and philological works) he should be elegantly conversant, 
being able to give a neat history of the author, a pretty sparkling 
kind criticism of the work, and an appropriate eulogium upon the 
binding, which would make those people read who never read be- 


350 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


fore ; or buy, at least, which is his first consideration. Of pictures 
we have already spoken. Of china, of jewellery, of gold-headed 
canes, valuable arms, picturesque antiquities, with what eloquent 
entrainement might he not speak ! He feels every one of these 
things in his heart. He has all the tastes of the fashionable world. 
Dr. Meyrick cannot be more enthusiastic about an old suit of 
armour than he : Sir Harris Nicholas not more eloquent regarding 
the gallant times in which it was worn, and the brave histories con- 
nected with it. He takes up a pearl necklace with as much delight 
as any beauty who was sighing to wear it round her own snowy 
throat, and hugs a china monster with as much joy as the oldest 
duchess could do. Nor must he affect these things; he must feel 
them. He is a glass in which all the tastes of fashion are re- 
flected. He must be every one of the characters to whom he 
addresses himself — a genteel Goethe or Shakspeare, a fashionable 
world-spirit. 

How can a man be all this and not be a gentleman ; and not 
have had an education in the midst of the best company — an insight 
into the most delicate feelings, and wants, and usages ? The pulpit 
oratory of such a man would be invaluable ; people would flock to 
listen to him from far and near. He might out of a single teacup 
cause streams of world-philosophy to flow, which would be drunk in 
by grateful thousands ; and draw out of an old pincushion points of 
wit, morals, and experience, that would make a nation wise. 

Look round, examine the annals of auctions, as Mr. Robins 
remarks, and (with every respect for him and his brethren) say, is 
there in the profession such a man ? Do we want such a man 1 
Is such a man likely or not likely to make an immense fortune ? 
Can we get such a man except out of the very best society, and 
among the most favoured there ? 

Everybody answers “ No ! ” I knew you would answer no. 
And now, gentlemen who have laughed at my pretension to discover 
a profession, say, have I not 1 I have laid my finger upon the spot 
where the social deficit exists. I have shown that we labour under 
a want ; and when the world wants, do we not know that a man 
will step forth to fill the vacant space that Fate has left him 1 Pass 
we now to the — 


SECOND PROFESSION 


T HIS profession, too, is a great, lofty, and exceptional one, and 
discovered by me considering these things and deeply musing 
upon the necessities of society. Nor let honourable gentle- 
men imagine that I am enabled to offer them in this profession, 
more than any other, a promise of what is called future glory, death- 
less fame, and so forth. All that I say is, that I can put young 
men in the way of making a comfortable livelihood, and leaving 
behind them, not a name, but, what is better, a .decent mainten- 
ance to their children. Fitz-Boodle is as good a name as any in 
England. General Fitz-Boodle, who, in Marlborough’s time, and 
in conjunction with the famous Van Slaap, beat the French in the 
famous action of Vischzouchee, near Mardyk, in Holland, on the 
14th of February 1709, is promised an immortality upon his 
tomb in Westminster Abbey ; but he died of apoplexy, deucedly in 
debt, two years afterwards : and what after that is the use of a 
name ? 

No, no ; the age of chivalry is past. Take the twenty-four first 
men who come into the club, and ask who they are, and how they 
made their money 1 ? There’s Woolsey-Sackville : his father was 
Lord Chancellor, and sat on the woolsack, whence he took his 
title; his grandfather dealt in coal-sacks, and not in wool-sacks, — 
small coal-sacks, dribbling out little supplies of black diamonds to 
the poor. Yonder comes Frank Leveson, in a huge broad-brimmed 
hat, his shirt-cuffs turned up to his elbows. Leveson is as gentle- 
manly a fellow as the world contains, and if he has a fault, is 
perhaps too finikin. Well, you fancy him related to the Sutherland 
family : nor, indeed, does honest Frank deny it ; but entre nous , 
my good sir, his father was an attorney, and his grandfather a 
bailiff in Chancery Lane, bearing a name still older than that of 
Leveson, namely, Levy. So it is that this confounded equality 
grows and grows, and has laid the good old nobility by the heels. 
Look at that venerable Sir Charles Kitely, of Kitely Park : he is 
interested about the Ashantees, and is just come from Exeter Hall. 
Kitely discounted bills in the city in the year 1787, and gained his 
baronetcy by a loan to the French princes. All these points of 


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THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 

history are perfectly well known ; and do you fancy the world cares ? 
Psha ! Profession is no disgrace to a man : be what you like, pro- 
vided you succeed. If Mr. Fauntleroy could come to life with a 
million of money, you and I would dine with him : you know we 
would ; for why should we be better than our neighbours 1 

Put, then, out of your head the idea that this or that profession 
is unworthy of you : take any that may bring you profit, and thank 
him that puts you in the way of being rich. 

The profession I would urge (upon a person duly qualified to 
undertake it) has, I confess, at the first glance, something ridicu- 
lous about it ; and will not appear to young ladies so romantic as 
the calling of a gallant soldier, blazing with glory, gold lace, and 
vermilion coats ; or a dear delightful clergyman, with a sweet blue 
eye, and a pocket handkerchief scented charmingly with lavender- 
water. The profession I allude to will, I own, be to young women 
disagreeable, to sober men trivial, to great stupid moralists unworthy. 

But mark my words for it, that in the religious world (I have 
once or twice, by mistake no doubt, had the honour of dining in 
“ serious ” houses, and can vouch for the fact that the dinners there 
are of excellent quality) — in the serious world, in the great mercan- 
tile world, among the legal community (notorious feeders), in every 
house in town (except some half-dozen which can afford to do with- 
out such aid), the man I propose might speedily render himself 
indispensable. 

Does the reader now begin to take? Have I hinted enough 
for him that he may see with eagle glance the immense beauty of 
the profession I am about to unfold to him ? We have all seen 
Gunter and Chevet ; Fregoso, on the Puerta del Sol (a relation of 
the ex-Minister Calomarde), is a good purveyor enough for the 
benighted olla-eaters of Madrid ; nor have I any fault to find with 
Guimard, a Frenchman, who has lately set up in the Toledo, at 
Naples, where he furnishes people with decent food. It has given 
me pleasure, too, in walking about London — in the Strand, in 
Oxford Street, and elsewhere, to see fournisseurs and comestible- 
merchants newly set up. Messrs. Morell have excellent articles 
in their warehouses; Fortnum and Mason are known to most of 
my readers. 

But what is not known, what is wanted, what is languished 
for in England is a dinner -master , — a gentleman who is not a 
provider of meat or wine, like the parties before named, who can 
have no earthly interest in the price of truffled turkeys or dry 
champagne beyond that legitimate interest which he may feel for 
his client, and which leads him to see that the latter is not cheated 
by his tradesmen. For the dinner-giver is almost naturally an 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 353 

ignorant man. How in mercy’s name can Mr. Serjeant Snorter, 
who is all day at Westminster, or in chambers, know possibly the 
mysteries, the delicacy, of dinner-giving? How can Alderman 
Pogson know anything beyond the fact that venison is good with 
currant-jelly, and that he likes lots of green fat with his turtle ? 
Snorter knows law, Pogson is acquainted with the state of the 
tallow-market; but what should he know of eating, like you and 
me, who have given up our time to it ? (I say me only familiarly, 
for I have only reached so far in the science as to know that I 
know nothing.) But men there are, gifted individuals, who have 
spent years of deep thought — not merely intervals of labour, but 
hours of study every day — over the gormandising science, — who, 
like alchemists, have let their fortunes go, guinea by guinea, into 
the all-devouring pot, — who, ruined as they sometimes are, never 
get a guinea by chance but they will have a plate of peas in May 
with it, or a little feast of ortolans, or a piece of Glo’ster salmon, 
or one more flask from their favourite claret-bin. 

It is not the ruined gastronomist that I would advise a person 
to select as his table-master ; for the opportunities of peculation 
would be too great in a position of such confidence — such complete 
abandonment of one man to another. A ruined man would be 
making bargains with the tradesmen. They would offer to cash 
bills for him, or send him opportune presents of wine, which he 
could convert into money, or bribe him in one way or another. 
Let this be done, and the profession of table-master is ruined. 
Snorter and Pogson may almost as well order their own dinners, 
as be at the mercy of a “ gastronomic agent ” whose faith is not 
beyond all question. 

A vulgar mind, in reply to these remarks regarding the gas- 
tronomic ignorance of Snorter and Pogson, might say, “ True, these 
gentlemen know nothing of household economy, being occupied with 
other more important business elsewhere. But what are their wives 
about? Lady Pogson in Harley Street has nothing earthly to do 
but to mind her poodle, and her mantua-maker’s and housekeeper’s 
bills. Mrs. Snorter in Bedford Place, when she has taken her 
drive in the Park with the young ladies, may surely have time to 
attend to her husband’s guests and preside over the preparations of 
his kitchen, as she does worthily at his hospitable mahogany.” To 
this I answer, that a man who expects a woman to understand the 
philosophy of dinner-giving, shows the strongest evidence of a low 
mind. He is unjust towards that lovely and delicate creature, 
woman, to suppose that she heartily understands and cares for 
what she eats and drinks. No : taken as a rule, women have no 
real appetites. They are children in the gormandising way ; loving 
4 Z 


354 > 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


sugar, sops, tarts, trifles, apricot-creams, and such gewgaws. They 
would take a sip of malmsey, and would drink currant-wine just 
as happily, if that accursed liquor were presented to them by the 
butler. Did you ever know a woman who could lay her fair hand 
upon her gentle heart and say on her conscience that she preferred 
dry sillery to sparkling champagne '1 Such a phenomenon does not 
exist. They are not made for eating and drinking ; or, if they 
make a pretence to it, become downright odious. Nor can they, 
I am sure, witness the preparations of a really great repast without 
a certain jealousy. They grudge spending money (ask guards, 
coachmen, inn-waiters, whether this be not the case). They will 
give their all, Heaven bless them ! to serve a son, a grandson, or 
a dear relative, but they have not the heart to pay for small things 
magnificently. They are jealous of good dinners, and no wonder. 
I have shown in a former discourse how they are jealous of smoking, 
and other personal enjoyments of the male. I say, then, that Lady 
Pogson or Mrs. Snorter can never conduct her husband’s table 
properly. Fancy either of them consenting to allow a calf to be 
stewed down into gravy for one dish, or a dozen hares to be sacri- 
ficed to a single puree of game, or the best madeira to be used for 
a sauce, or half-a-dozen of champagne to boil a ham in. They will 
be for bringing a bottle of marsala in place of the old particular, or 
for having the ham cooked in water. But of these matters — of 
kitchen philosophy — I have no practical or theoretic knowledge ; 
and must beg pardon if, only understanding the goodness of a dish 
when cooked, I may have unconsciously made some blunder regard- 
ing the preparation. 

Let it, then, be set down as an axiom, without further trouble 
of demonstration, that a woman is a bad dinner-caterer : either too 
great and simple for it, or too mean — I don’t know which it is ; and 
gentlemen, according as they admire or contemn the sex, may settle 
that matter their own way. In brief, the mental constitution of 
lovely woman is such that she cannot give a great dinner. It 
must be done by a man. It can’t be done by an ordinary man, 
because he does not understand it. Vain fool ! and he sends off to 
the pastrycook in Great Russell Street or Baker Street, he lays on 
a couple of extra waiters (greengrocers in the neighbourhood), he 
makes a great pother with his butler in the cellar, and fancies he 
has done the business. 

Bon Dieu ! Who has not been at those dinners ? — those mon- 
strous exhibitions of the pastrycook’s art ? Who does not know those 
made dishes with the universal sauce to each : fricandeaux, sweet- 
breads, damp dumpy cutlets, &c., seasoned with the compound of 
grease, onions, bad port-wine, cayenne pepper, curry-powder (Warren’s 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 355 

blacking, for what I know, but the taste is always the same) — 
there they lie in the old corner dishes, the poor wiry moselle and 
sparkling burgundy in the ice-coolers, and the old story of white 
and brown soup, turbot, little smelts, boiled turkey, saddle-of- 
mutton, and so forth'? “Try a little of that fricandeau,” says 
Mrs. Snorter, with a kind smile, “ You’ll find it, I think, very 
nice.” Be sure it has come in a green tray from Great Russell 
Street. “Mr. Fitz-Boodle, you have been in Germany,” cries 
Snorter knowingly ; “ taste the hock, and tell me what you think 
of that” 

How should he know better, poor benighted creature; or she, 
dear good soul that she is *? If they would have a leg-of-mutton and 
an apple-pudding, and a glass of sherry and port (or simple brandy- 
and-water called by its own name) after dinner, all would be very 
well; but they must shine, they must dine as their neighbours. 
There is no difference in the style of dinners in London ; people with 
five hundred a year treat you exactly as those of five thousand. They 
will have their moselle or hock, their fatal side-dishes brought in 
the green trays from the pastrycook’s. 

Well, there is no harm done; not as regards the dinner-givers 
at least, though the dinner-eaters may have to suffer somewhat ; it 
only shows that the former are hospitably inclined, and wish to do 
the very best in their power, — good honest fellows ! If they do 
wrong, how can they help it 1 they know no better. 

And now, is it not as clear as the sun at noonday, that a want 
exists in London for a superintendent of the table — a gastronomic 
agent— a dinner-master, as I have called him before ? A man of 
such a profession would be a metropolitan benefit ; hundreds of thou- 
sands of people of the respectable sort, people in white waistcoats, 
would thank him daily. Calculate how many dinners are given in 
the City of London, and calculate the numbers of benedictions that 
“ the Agency ” might win. 

And as no doubt the observant man of the world has re- 
marked that the freeborn Englishman of the respectable class is, 
of all others, the most slavish and truckling to a lord ; that there 
is no fly-blown peer but he is pleased to have him at his table, 
proud beyond measure to call him by his surname (without the 
lordly prefix) ; and that those lords whom he does not know, 
he yet (the freeborn Englishman) takes care to have their pedigrees 
and ages by heart from his world-bible, the “ Peerage ” : as this 
is an indisputable fact, and as it is in this particular class of 
Britons that our agent must look to find clients, I need not say 
it is necessary that the agent should be as high-born as possible, 
and that he should be able to tack, if possible, an honourable or 


356 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


some other handle to his respectable name. He must have it on 
his professional card — 

tZTfjc honourable (Ecorgc ffiormanU (Sobblrton, 

Apician Chambers , Pall Mall. 

Or, 

<Str Augustus Carbcr Cramleg Cramlrg, 

Amphitryonic Council Office, Swallow Street. 


Or, in some such neat way, Gothic letters on a large handsome 
crockery-ware card, with possibly a gilt coat-of-arms and supporters, or 
the blood-red hand of baronetcy duly displayed. Depend on it plenty 
of guineas will fall in it, and that Gobbleton’s supporters will support 
him comfortably enough. 

For this profession is not like that of the auctioneer, which I take 
to be a far more noble one, because more varied and more truthful ; 
but in the Agency case, a little humbug at least is necessary. A 
man cannot be a successful agent by the mere force of his simple 
merit or genius in eating and drinking. He must of necessity impose 
upon the vulgar to a certain degree. He must be of that rank 
which will lead them naturally to respect him, otherwise they might 
be led to jeer at his profession ; but let a noble exercise it, and, 
bless your soul, all the “ Court Guide ” is dumb. 

He will then give out in a manly and somewhat pompous address 
what has before been mentioned, namely, that he has seen the fatal 
way in which the hospitality of England has been perverted hitherto, 
accapare’d by a few cooks with green trays. (He must use a good 
deal of French in his language, for that is considered very gentle- 
manlike by vulgar people.) He will take a set of chambers in 
Carlton Gardens, which will be richly though severely furnished, 
and the door of which will be opened by a French valet (he must 
be a Frenchman, remember), who will say, on letting Mr. Snorter 
or Sir Benjamin Pogson in, that “ Milor is at home.” Pogson will 
then be shown into a library furnished with massive bookcases, 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 357 

containing all the works on cookery and wines (the titles of them) 
in all the known languages in the world. Any books, of course, 
will do, as you will have them handsomely bound, and keep them 
under plate-glass. On a side-table will be little sample-bottles of 
wines, a few truffles on a white porcelain saucer, a prodigious straw- 
berry or two, perhaps, at the time when such fruit costs much 
money. On the bookcase will be busts marked Ude, Carkme, 
Bechamel, in marble (never mind what heads, of course) ; and, 
perhaps, on the clock should be a figure of the Prince of Condi’s cook 
killing himself because the fish had not arrived in time : there may 
be a wreath of immortelles on the figure to give it a more decidedly 
Frenchified air. The walls will be of a dark rich paper, hung round 
with neat gilt frames, containing plans of menus of various great 
dinners, — those of Cambacdrks, Napoleon, Louis XIV., Louis XVIII., 
Heliogabalus if you like, each signed by the respective cook. 

After the stranger has looked about him at these things, which 
he does not understand in the least, especially the truffles, which 
look like dirty potatoes, you will make your appearance, dressed in 
a dark dress, with one handsome enormous gold chain, and one large 
diamond ring; a gold snuffbox, of course, which you will thrust 
into the visitor’s paw before saying a word. You will be yourself 
a portly grave man, with your head a little bald and grey. In fact, 
in this, as in all other professions, you had best try to look as like 
Canning as you can. 

When Pogson has done sneezing with the snuff, you will say to 
him, “Take a fauteuil. I have the honour of addressing Sir 
Benjamin Pogson, I believer’ And then you will explain to him 
your system. 

This, of course, must vary with every person you address. But 
let us lay down a few of the heads of a plan which may be useful, or 
may be modified infinitely, or may be cast aside altogether, just as 
circumstances dictate. After all /am not going to turn gastronomic 
agent, and speak only for the benefit perhaps of the very person who 
is reading this : — 

“ SYNOPSIS OF THE GASTRONOMIC AGENCY OF THE HONOURABLE 
GEORGE GOBBLETON. 

“The Gastronomic Agent having traversed Europe, and dined 
with the best society of the world, has been led naturally, as a 
patriot, to turn his thoughts homeward, and cannot but deplore the 
lamentable ignorance regarding gastronomy displayed in a country 
for which Nature has done almost everything. 

“ But it is ever singularly thus. Inherent ignorance belongs to 


358 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


man ; and The Agent, in his Continental travels, has always remarked, 
that the countries most fertile in themselves were invariably worse 
tilled than those more barren. The Italians and the Spaniards 
leave their fields to Nature, as we leave our vegetables, fish, and 
meat. And, heavens ! what riches do we fling away — what dormant 
qualities in our dishes do we disregard — what glorious gastronomic 
crops (if The Agent may be permitted the expression) — what 
glorious gastronomic crops do we sacrifice, allowing our goodly meats 
and fishes to lie fallow ! £ Chance,’ it is said by an ingenious 

historian, who, having been long a secretary in the East India 
House, must certainly have had access to the best information upon 
Eastern matters — ‘ Chance,’ it is said by Mr. Charles Lamb, 1 which 
burnt down a Chinaman’s house, with a litter of sucking-pigs that 
were unable to escape from the interior, discovered to the w r orld the 
excellence of roast-pig.’ Gunpowder, we know, was invented by a 
similar fortuity.” [The reader will observe that my style in the 
supposed character of a Gastronomic Agent is purposely pompous 
and loud.] “So, ’tis said, was printing — so glass. — We should 
have drunk our wine poisoned with the villainous odour of the 
borracha, had not some Eastern merchants, lighting their fires in 
the desert, marked the strange composition which now glitters on 
our sideboards, and holds the costly produce of our vines. 

“We have spoken of the natural riches of a country. Let the 
reader think but for one moment of the gastronomic wealth of our 
country of England, and he will be lost in thankful amazement as 
he watches the astonishing riches poured out upon us from Nature’s 
bounteous cornucopia ! Look at our fisheries ! — the trout and 
salmon tossing in our brawling streams ; the white and full-breasted 
turbot struggling in the mariner’s net ; the purple lobster lured by 
hopes of greed into his basket-prison, which lie quits only for the 
red ordeal of the pot. Look at whitebait, great heavens ! — look at 
whitebait, and a thousand frisking, glittering, silvery things besides, 
■which the nymphs of our native streams bear kindly to the deities 
of our kitchens — our kitchens such as they are. 

“ And though it may be said that other countries produce the 
freckle-backed salmon and the dark broad-shouldered turbot ; though 
trout frequent many a stream besides those of England, and lobsters 
sprawl on other sands than ours ; yet, let it be remembered, that 
our native country possesses these altogether, while other lands only 
know them separately ; that, above all, whitebait is peculiarly our 
country’s — our city’s own ! Blessings and eternal praises be on it, 
and, of course, on brown bread and butter ! And the Briton should 
further remember, with honest pride and thankfulness, the situation 
of his capital, of London : the lordly turtle floats from the sea into 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 359 

the stream, and from the stream to the city ; the rapid fleets of all 
the world se donnent rendezvous in the docks of our silvery Thames ; 
the produce of our coasts and provincial cities, east and west, is 
borne to us on the swift lines of lightning railroads. In a word — 
and no man but one who, like The Agent, has travelled Europe 
over, can appreciate the gift — there is no city on earth’s surface so 
well supplied with fish as London ! 

“ With respect to our meats, all praise is supererogatory. Ask 
the wretched hunter of chevreuil , the poor devourer of rehbraten , 
what they think of the noble English haunch, that, after bounding 
in the Park of Knole or Windsor, exposes its magnificent flank upon 
some broad silver platter at our tables'? It is enough to say of 
foreign venison, that they are obliged to lard it. Away ! ours is 
the palm of roast : whether of the crisp mutton that crops the 
thyrny herbage of our downs, or the noble ox who revels on lush 
Althorpian oil-cakes. What game is like to ours 1 Mans excels 
us in poultry, ’tis true ; but ’tis only in merry England that the 
partridge has a flavour, that the turkey can almost se passer de 
trujfes, that the jolly juicy goose can be eaten as he deserves. 

“ Our vegetables, moreover, surpass all comment ; Art (by the 
means of glass) has wrung fruit out of the bosom of Nature, 
such as she grants to no other clime. And if we have no vine- 
yards on our hills, we have gold to purchase their best produce. 
Nature, and enterprise that masters Nature, have done everything 
for our land. 

“ But, with all these prodigious riches in our power, is it not 
painful to reflect how absurdly we employ them 1 Can we say that 
we are in the habit of dining well 1 Alas, no ! and The Agent, 
roaming o’er foreign lands, and seeing how, with small means and 
great ingenuity and perseverance, great ends were effected, comes 
back sadly to his own country, whose wealth he sees absurdly 
wasted, whose energies are misdirected, and whose vast capabilities 
are allowed to lie idle. ...” [Here should follow what I have only 
hinted at previously, a vivid and terrible picture of the degradation 
of our table.] “ . . . Oh, for a master spirit, to give an impetus 
to the land, to see its great power directed in the right way, and 
its wealth not squandered or hidden, but nobly put out to interest 
and spent ! 

“ The Agent dares not hope to win that proud station — to be 
the. destroyer of a barbarous system wallowing in abusive prodigality 
— to become a dietetic reformer — the Luther of the table. 

“But convinced of the wrongs which exist, he will do his 
humble endeavour to set them right, and to those who know that 
they are ignorant (and this is a vast step to knowledge) he offers 


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THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


his counsels, his active co-operation, his frank and kindly sympathy. 
The Agent’s qualifications are these : — 

“ 1. He is of one of the best families in England; and has in 
himself, or through his ancestors, been accustomed to good living 
for centuries. In the reign of Henry V., his maternal great-great- 
grandfather, Roger de Gobylton” [the name may be varied, of 
course , or the king's reign , or the dish invented ], “was the first 
who discovered the method of roasting a peacock whole, with his 
tail-feathers displayed; and the dish was served to the two kings 
at Rouen. Sir Walter Cramley, in Elizabeth’s reign, produced 
before her Majesty, when at Killingworth Castle, mackerel with 
the famous gooseberry sauce , &c. 

“2. He has, through life, devoted himself to no other study 
than that of the table : and has visited to that end the Courts of 
all the monarchs of Europe : taking the receipts of the cooks, with 
whom he lives on terms of intimate friendship, often at enormous 
expense to himself. 

“ 3. He has the same acquaintance with all the vintages of the 
Continent; having passed the autumn of 1811 (the comet year) 
on the great Weinberg of Johannisberg ; being employed similarly 
at Bordeaux, in 1834; at Oporto, in 1820 ; and at Xeres de la 
Frontera, with his excellent friends, Duff, Gordon, & Co., the year 
after. He travelled to India and back in company with fourteen 
pipes of madeira (on board of the Samuel Snob East India- 
man, Captain Scuttler), and spent the vintage season in the island, 
with unlimited powers of observation granted to him by the great 
houses there. 

“4. He has attended Mr. Groves of Charing Cross, and Mr. 
Giblett of Bond Street, in a course of purchases of fish and meat ; 
and is able at a glance to recognise the age of mutton, the primeness 
of beef, the firmness and freshness of fish of all kinds. 

“5. He has visited the parks, the grouse-manors, and the 
principal gardens of England, in a similar professional point of 
view.” 

The Agent then, through his subordinates, engages to provide 
gentlemen who are about to give dinner-parties — 

“ 1. With cooks to dress the dinners ; a list of which gentlemen 
he has by him, and will recommend none who are not worthy of 
the strictest confidence. 

“2. With a menu for the table, according to the price which 
the Amphitryon chooses to incur. 

“3. He will, through correspondences with the various fournis- 
seurs of the metropolis, provide them with viands, fruit, wine, &c., 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 36 1 

sending to Paris, if need be, where he has a regular correspondence 
with Messrs. Chevet. 

‘ ‘ 4. He has a list of dexterous table-waiters (all answering to the 
name of John for fear of mistakes, the butler’s name to be settled 
according to pleasure), and would strongly recommend that the 
servants of the house should be locked in the back-kitchen or 
servants’ hall during the time the dinner takes place. 

“ 5. He will receive and examine all the accounts of the fournis- 
seurs — of course pledging his honour as a gentleman not to receive 
one shilling of paltry gratification from the tradesmen he employs, 
but to see that the bills are more moderate, and their goods of 
better quality, than they would provide to any person of less 
experience than himself. 

“ 6. His fee for superintending a dinner will be five guineas : 
and The Agent entreats his clients to trust entirely to him and his 
subordinates for the arrangement of the repast — not to think of 
inserting dishes of their own invention, or producing wine from their 
ow r n cellars, as he engages to have it brought in the best order, and 
fit for immediate drinking. Should the Amphitryon, however, 
desire some particular dish or wine, he must consult The Agent, in 
the first case by writing, in the second by sending a sample to The 
Agent’s chambers. For it is manifest that the whole complexion 
of a dinner may be altered by the insertion of a single dish ; and, 
therefore, parties will do well to mention their wishes on the first 
interview with The Agent. He cannot be called upon to recompose 
his bill of fare, except at great risk to the ensemble of the dinner 
and enormous inconvenience to himself. 

“ 7. The Agent will be at home for consultation from ten o’clock 
until two — earlier, if gentlemen who are engaged at early hours in 
the City desire to have an interview : and be it remembered, that a 
personal interview is always the best : for it is greatly necessary to 
know not only the number but the character of the guests whom 
the Amphitryon proposes to entertain — whether they are fond of 
any particular wine or dish, what is their state of health, rank, 
style, profession, &c. 

“8. At two o’clock he will commence his rounds; for as the 
metropolis is wide, it is clear that he must be early in the field in 
some districts. From 2 till 3 he will be in Russell Square and the 
neighbourhood; 3 to 3f, Harley Street, Portland Place, Cavendish 
Square, and the environs; 3} to 4J, Portman Square, Gloucester 
Place, Baker Street, &c. ; to 5, the new district about Hyde 
Park Terrace ; 5 to 5f, St. John’s Wood and the Regent’s Park, 
He w T ill be in Grosvenor Square by 6 ; and in Belgrave Square, 
Pimlico, and its vicinity, by 7. Parties there are requested not 


362 


THE FITZ-BOODLE PAPERS 


to dine until 8 o’clock : and The Agent, once for all, peremptorily 
announces that he will not go to the Palace, where it is utterly 
impossible to serve a good dinner.” 

“ To Tradesmen. 

“Every Monday evening during the season the Gastronomic 
Agent proposes to give a series of trial dinners, to which the prin- 
cipal gourmands of the metropolis, and a few of The Agent’s most 
respectable clients, will be invited. Covers will be laid for ten at 
nine o’clock precisely. And as The Agent does not propose to exact 
a single shilling of profit from their bills, and as his recommenda- 
tion will be of infinite value to them, the tradesmen he employs will 
furnish the weekly dinner gratis. Cooks will attend (who have 
acknowledged characters) upon the same terms. To save trouble, 
a book will be kept where butchers, poulterers, fishmongers, &c., 
may inscribe their names in order, taking it by turns to supply the 
trial-table. Wine-merchants will naturally compete every week 
promiscuously, sending what they consider their best samples, and 
leaving with the hall-porter tickets of the prices. Confectionery to 
be done out of the house. Fruiterers, market-men, as butchers 
and poulterers. The Agent’s maitre-dl hotel will give a receipt to 
each individual for the articles he produces; and let all remember 
that The Agent is a very keen judge, and woe betide those who 
serve him or his clients ill ! 

“George Gormand Gobbleton. 

“Carlton Gardens: June 10 , 1842 .” 

Here I have sketched out the heads of such an address as I 
conceive a gastronomic agent might put forth ; and appeal pretty 
confidently to the British public regarding its merits and my own 
discovery. If this be not a profession — a new one — a feasible one 
— a lucrative one, — I don’t know what is. Say that a man attends 
but fifteen dinners daily, that is seventy-five guineas, or five hundred 
and fifty pounds weekly, or fourteen thousand three hundred pounds 
for a season of six months : and how many of our younger sons have 
such a capital even ? Let, then, some unemployed gentleman with 
the requisite qualifications come forward. It will not be necessary 
that he should have done all that is stated in the prospectus ; but, 
at any rate, let him say he has : there can’t be much harm in an 
innocent fib of that sort ; for the gastronomic agent must be a sort 
of dinner-pope, whose opinions cannot be supposed to err. 

And as he really will be an excellent judge of eating and drink- 
ing, and will bring his whole mind to bear upon the question, and 


FITZ-BOODLE’S PROFESSIONS 363 

will speedily acquire an experience which no person out of the 
profession can possibly have ; and as, moreover, he will be an 
honourable man, not practising upon his client in any way, or 
demanding sixpence beyond his just fee, the world will gain vastly 
by the coming forward of such a person, — gain in good dinners, 
and absolutely save money : for what is five guineas for a dinner 
of sixteen ? The sum may be gaspille by a cook-wench, or by one 
of those abominable before -named pastrycooks with their green 
trays. 

If any man take up the business, he will invite me, of course, 
to the Monday dinners. Or does ingratitude go so far as that a 
man should forget the author of his good fortune 1 ? I believe it 
does. Turn we away from the sickening theme ! 

And now, having concluded my professions, how shall I express 
my obligations to the discriminating press of this country for the 
unanimous applause which hailed my first appearance ? It is the 
more wonderful, as I pledge my sacred word, I never wrote a 
document before much longer than a laundress’s bill, or the accept- 
ance of an invitation to dinner. But enough of this egotism : thanks 
for praise conferred sound like vanity ; gratitude is hard to speak 
of, and at present it swells the full heart of 

George Savage Fitz-Boodle. 




MENS WIYES 














































































































































































































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MEN’S WIYES 

By G. FITZ-BOODLE 


THE RAVENSWING 

CHAPTER I 

WHICH IS ENTIRELY INTRODUCTORY— CONTAINS AN ACCOUNT 
OF MISS CRUMP, HER SUITORS, AND HER FAMILY CIRCLE 

I N a certain quiet and sequestered nook of the retired village of 
London — perhaps in the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square, or 
at any rate somewhere near Burlington Gardens — there was 
once a house of entertainment called the “ Bootjack Hotel.” Mr. 
Crump, the landlord, had, in the outset of life, performed the duties 
of Boots in some inn even more frequented than his own, and, far 
from being ashamed of his origin, as many persons are in the days 
of their prosperity, had thus solemnly recorded it over the hospi- 
table gate of his hotel. 

Crump married Miss Budge, so well known to the admirers of 
the festive dance on the other side of the water as Miss Delaney ; 
and they had one daughter, named Morgiana, after that celebrated 
part in the “Forty Thieves” which Miss Budge performed with 
unbounded applause both at the “ Surrey ” and “ The Wells.” Mrs. 
Crump sat in a little bar, profusely ornamented with pictures of 
the dancers of all ages, from Hillisberg, Rose, Parisot, who plied 
the light fantastic toe in 1805, down to the Sylphides of our day. 
There was in the collection a charming portrait of herself, done by 
De Wilde; she was in the dress of Morgiana, and in the act of 
pouring, to very slow music, a quantity of boiling oil into one of 
the forty jars. In this sanctuary she sat, with black eyes, black 
hair, a purple face and a turban, and morning, noon, or night, as 
you went into the parlour of the hotel, there was Mrs. Crump 
taking tea (with a little something in it) looking at the fashions, or 


MEN’S WIVES 


368 

reading Cumberland’s “ British Theatre.” The Sunday Times was 
her paper, for she voted the Dispatch, that journal which is taken 
in by most ladies of her profession, to be vulgar and Radical, and 
loved the theatrical gossip in which the other mentioned journal 
abounds. 

The fact is, that the “ Royal Bootjack,” though a humble, was 
a very genteel house ; and a very little persuasion would induce 
Mr. Crump, as he looked at his own door in the sun, to tell you 
that he had himself once drawn off with that very bootjack the top- 
boots of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and the first 
gentleman in Europe. While, then,, the houses of entertainment in 
the neighbourhood were loud in their pretended Liberal politics, the 
“ Bootjack ” stuck to the good old Conservative line, and was only 
frequented by such persons as were of that way of thinking. There 
were two parlours, much accustomed, one for the gentlemen of the 
shoulder-knot, who came from the houses of their employers hard 
by; another for some “gents who used the ’ouse,” as Mrs. Crump 
would say (Heaven bless her !) in her simple Cockniac dialect, and 
who formed a little club there. 

I forgot to say that while Mrs. C. was sipping her eternal tea 
or washing up her endless blue china, you might often hear Miss 
Morgiana employed at the little red-silk cottage piano, singing, 
“ Come where the haspens quiver,” or “ Bonny lad, march over-hill 
and furrow,” or “ My art and lute,” or any other popular piece of 
the day. And the dear girl sang with very considerable skill, too, 
for she had a fine loud voice, which, if not always in tune, made up 
for that defect by its great energy and activity ; and Morgiana was 
not content with singing the mere tune, but gave every one of the 
roulades, flourishes, and ornaments as she heard them at the theatres 
by Mrs. Humby, Mrs. Waylett, or Madame Vestris. The girl had 
a fine black eye like her mamma, a grand enthusiasm for the stage, 
as every actor’s child will have, and, if the truth must be known, 
had appeared many and many a time at the theatre in Catherine 
Street, in minor parts first, and then in Little Pickle, in Desde- 
mona, in Rosina, and in Miss Foote’s part where she used to dance : 
I have not the name to my hand, but think it is Davidson. Four 
times in the week, at least, her mother and she used to sail off at 
night to some place of public amusement, for Mrs. Crump had a 
mysterious acquaintance with all sorts of theatrical personages ; and 
the gates of her old haunt “ The Wells,” of the “ Cobourg ” (by the 
kind permission of Mrs. Davidge), nay, of the “Lane” and the 
“Market” themselves flew open before her “Open sesame,” as 
the robbers’ door did to her colleague, Ali Baba (Hornbuckle), in 
the operatic piece in which she was so famous. 


THE RAVENSWING 


369 

Beer was Mr. Crump’s beverage, diversified by a little gin, in 
tlie evenings ; and little need be said of this gentleman, except that 
he discharged his duties honourably, and filled the president’s chair 
at the club as completely as it could possibly be filled ; for he could 
not even sit in it in his greatcoat, so accurately was the seat 
adapted to him. His wife and daughter, perhaps, thought some- 
what slightingly of him, for he had no literary tastes, and had 
never been at a theatre since he took his bride from one. He was 
valet to Lord Slapper at the time, and certain it is that his lordship 
set him up in the “ Bootjack,” and that stories had been told. But 
what are such to you or me? Let bygones be bygones; Mrs. 
Crump was quite as honest as her neighbours, and Miss had five 
hundred pounds to be paid down on the day of her wedding. 

Those who know the habits of the British tradesman are aware 
that he has gregarious propensities like any lord in the land ; that 
he loves a joke, that he is not averse to a glass ; that after the 
day’s toil he is happy to consort with men of his degree ; and that 
as society is not so far advanced among us as to allow him to enjoy 
the comforts of splendid club-houses, which are open to many 
persons with not a tenth part of his pecuniary means, he meets his 
friends in the cosy tavern parlour, where a neat sanded floor, 
a large Windsor chair, and a glass of hot something and water, 
make him as happy as any of the clubmen in their magnificent 
saloons. 

At the “ Bootjack ” was, as we have said, a very genteel and 
select society, called the “Kidney Club,” from the fact that on 
Saturday evenings a little graceful supper of broiled kidneys was 
usually discussed by the members of the club. Saturday was their 
grand night ; not but that they met on all other nights in the week 
when inclined for festivity: and indeed some of them could not come 
on Saturdays in the summer, having elegant villas in the suburbs, 
where they passed the six-and-thirty hours of recreation that are 
happily to be found at the end of every week. 

There was Mr. Balls, the great grocer of South Audley Street, 
a warm man, who, they say, had his twenty thousand pounds ; Jack 
Snaffle, of the mews hard by, a capital fellow for a song ; Clinker, 
the ironmonger: all married gentlemen, and in the best line of 
business ; Tressle, the undertaker, &c. No liveries were admitted 
into the room, as may be imagined, but one or two select butlers 
and major-domos joined the circle; for the persons composing it 
knew very well how important it was to be on good terms with 
these gentlemen : and many a time my lord’s account would never 
have been paid, and my lady’s large order never have been given, 
but for the conversation which took place at the “ Bootjack,” and 


370 MEN’S WIVES 

the friendly intercourse subsisting between all the members of the 
society. 

The tiptop men of the society were two bachelors, and two as 
fashionable tradesmen as any in the town : Mr. Woolsey, from 
Stultz’s, of the famous house of Linsey, Woolsey, & Co., of Conduit 
Street, Tailors; and Mr. Eglantine, the celebrated perruquier and 
perfumer of Bond Street, whose soaps, razors, and patent ventilating 
scalps are known throughout Europe. Linsey, the senior partner of 
the tailors’ firm, had his handsome mansion in Regent’s Park, drove 
his buggy, and did little more than lend his name to the house. 
Woolsey lived in it, was the working man of the firm, and it was 
said that his cut was as magnificent as that of any man in the pro- 
fession. Woolsey and Eglantine were rivals in many ways — rivals 
in fashion, rivals in wit, and, above all, rivals for the hand of an 
amiable young lady whom we have already mentioned, the dark- 
eved songstress Morgiana Crump. They were both desperately in 
love with her, that was the truth ; and each, in the absence of the 
other, abused his rival heartily. Of the hairdresser Woolsey said, 
that as for Eglantine being his real name, it was all his (Mr. 
Woolsey’s) eye; that he was in the hands of the Jews, and his 
stock and grand shop eaten up by usury. And with regard to 
Woolsey, Eglantine remarked, that his pretence of being descended 
from the Cardinal was all nonsense; that he was a partner, certainly, 
in the firm, but had only a sixteenth share ; and that the firm could 
never get their moneys in, and had an immense number of bad debts 
in their books. As is usual, there was a great deal of truth and a 
great deal of malice in these tales ; however, the gentlemen were, 
take them all in all, in a very fashionable way of business, and had 
their claims to Miss Morgiana’s hand backed by the parents. Mr. 
Crump was a partisan of the tailor; while Mrs. C. was a strong 
advocate for the claims of the enticing perfumer. 

Now, it was a curious fact, that these two gentlemen were eacli 
in need of the other’s services — Woolsey being afflicted with pre- 
mature baldness, or some other necessity for a wig still more fatal — 
Eglantine being a very fat man, who required much art to make his 
figure at all decent. He wore a brown frock-coat and frogs, and 
attempted by all sorts of contrivances to hide his obesity; but 
Woolsey’s remark, that, dress as he would, he would always look 
like a snob, and that there was only one man in England who could 
make a gentleman of him, went to the perfumer’s soul ; and if there 
was one thing on earth he longed for (not including the hand of 
Miss Crump) it was to have a coat from Linsey’s, in which costume 
he was sure that Morgiana would not resist him. 

If Eglantine was uneasy about the coat, on the other hand he 


THE RAVENSWING 371 

attacked Woolsey atrociously on the score of his wig ; for though 
the latter went to the best makers, he never could get a peruke to 
sit naturally upon him ; and the unhappy epithet of Mr. Wiggins, 
applied to him on one occasion by the barber, stuck to him ever 
after in the club, and made him writhe wdien it was uttered. Each 
man would have quitted the “Kidneys” in disgust long since, but 
for the other — for each had an attraction in the place, and dared 
not leave the field in possession of his rival. 

To do Miss Morgiana justice, it must be said, that she did not 
encourage one more than another ; but as far as accepting eau-de- 
cologne and hair-combs from the perfumer — some opera tickets, a 
treat to Greenwich, and a piece of real Genoa velvet for a bonnet 
(it had originally been intended for a waistcoat), from the admiring 
tailor, she had been equally kind to each, and in return had made 
each a present of a lock of her beautiful glossy hair. It was all she 
had to give, poor girl ! and what could she do but gratify her 
admirers by this cheap and artless testimony of her regard 1 A 
pretty scene and quarrel took place between the rivals on the day 
when they discovered that each was in possession of one of 
Morgiana’s ringlets. 

Such, then, were the owners and inmates of the little “ Bootjack,” 
from whom and which, as this chapter is exceedingly discursive and 
descriptive, we must separate the reader for a while, and carry him 
— it is only into Bond Street, so no gentleman need be afraid — 
carry him into Bond Street, where some other personages are 
awaiting his consideration. 

Not far from Mr. Eglantine’s shop in Bond Street, stand, as is very 
well known, the Windsor Chambers. The West Diddlesex Associa- 
tion (Western Branch), the British and Foreign Soap Company, 
the celebrated attorneys Kite and Levison, have their respective 
offices here; and as the names of the other inhabitants of the 
chambers are not only painted on the walls, but also registered in 
Mr. Boyle’s “ Court Guide,” it is quite unnecessary that they should 
be repeated here. Among them, on the entresol (between the 
splendid saloons of the Soap Company on the first floor, with their 
statue of Britannia presenting a packet of the soap to Europe, Asia, 
Africa, and America, and the West Diddlesex Western Branch on 
the basement)— lives a gentleman by the name of Mr. Howard 
Walker. The brass plate on the door of that gentleman’s chambers 
had the word “ Agency ” inscribed beneath his name ; and we are 
therefore at liberty to imagine that he followed that mysterious 
occupation. In person Mr. Walker was very genteel ; he had large 
whiskers, dark eyes (with a slight cast in them), a cane, and a velvet 
waistcoat. He w T as a member of a club ; had an admission to the 


372 


MEN’S WIVES 


opera, and knew every face behind the scenes ; and was in the habit 
of using a number of French phrases in his conversation, having 
picked up a smattering of that language during a residence “ on the 
Continent;” in fact, he had found it very convenient at various 
times of his life to dwell in the city of Boulogne, where he acquired 
a knowledge of smoking, dearth, and billiards, which was afterwards 
of great service to him. He knew all the best tables in town, and 
the marker at Hunt’s could only give him ten. He had some 
fashionable acquaintances too, and you might see him walking arm- 
in-arm with such gentlemen as my Lord Vauxhall, the Marquess of 
Billingsgate, or Captain Buff ; and at the same time nodding to 
young Moses, the dandy bailiff; or Loder, the gambling -house 
keeper ; or Aminadab, the cigar-seller in the Quadrant. Sometimes 
he wore a pair of moustaches, and was called Captain Walker ; 
grounding his claim to that title upon the fact of having once held 
a commission in the service of Her Majesty the Queen of Portugal. 
It scarcely need be said that he had been through the Insolvent 
Court many times. But to those who did not know his history 
intimately there was some difficulty in identifying him with the 
individual who had so taken the benefit of the law, inasmuch as in 
his schedule his name appeared as Hooker Walker, wine-merchant, 
commission-agent, music-seller, or what not. The fact is, that 
though he preferred to call himself Howard, Hooker was his Christian 
name, and it had been bestowed on him by his worthy old father, 
who was a clergyman, and had intended his son for that profession. 
But as the old gentleman died in York gaol, where he was a prisoner 
for debt, he was never able to put his pious intentions with regard 
to Ins son into execution ; and the young fellow (as he was wont 
with many oaths to assert) was thrown on his own resources, and 
became a man of the world at a very early age. 

What Mr. Howard Walker’s age was at the time of the com- 
mencement of this history, and, indeed, for an indefinite period 
before or afterwards, it is impossible to determine. If he were 
eight-and-twenty, as he asserted himself, Time had dealt hardly with 
him : his hair was thin, there were many crows’-feet about his eyes, 
and other signs in his countenance of the progress of decay. If, on 
the contrary, he were forty, as Sam Snaffle declared, who himself 
had misfortunes in early life, and vowed he knew Mr. Walker in 
Whitecross Street Prison in 1820, he was a very young-looking 
person considering his age. His figure was active and slim, his leg 
neat, and he had not in his whiskers a single white hair. 

It must, however, be owned that he used Mr. Eglantine’s Regener- 
ative Unction (which will make your whiskers as black as your boot), 
and, in fact, he was a pretty constant visitor at that gentleman’s 


373 


THE RAVENSWING 

emporium ; dealing with him largely for soaps and articles of per- 
fumery, which he had at an exceedingly low rate. Indeed, he was 
never known to pay Mr. Eglantine one single shilling for those objects 
of luxury, and, having them on such moderate terms, was enabled to 
indulge in them pretty copiously. Thus Mr. Walker was almost as 
great a nosegay as Mr. Eglantine himself : his handkerchief was 
scented with verbena, his hair with jessamine, and his coat had 
usually a fine perfume of cigars, which rendered his presence in a 
small room almost instantaneously remarkable. I have described 
Mr. Walker thus accurately, because, in truth, it is more with char- 
acters than with astounding events that this little history deals, and 
Mr. Walker is one of the principal of our dramatis personae. 

And so, having introduced Mr. W., we will walk over with him 
to Mr. Eglantine’s emporium, where that gentleman is in waiting, 
too, to have his likeness taken. 

There is about an acre of plate glass under the Royal arms on 
Mr. Eglantine’s shop-window ; and at night, when the gas is lighted, 
and the washballs are illuminated, and the lambent flame plays fit- 
fully over numberless bottles of vari-coloured perfumes — now flashes 
on a case of razors, and now lightens up a crystal vase, containing a 
hundred thousand of his patent toothbrushes — the effect of the sight 
may be imagined. You don’t suppose that he is a creature who has 
those odious, simpering wax figures in his window, that are called by 
the vulgar dummies ? He is above such a wretched artifice ; and it 
is my belief that he would as soon have his own head chopped off, 
and placed as a trunkless decoration to his shop-window, as allow a 
dummy to figure there. On one pane you read in elegant gold letters 
“Eglantinia” — ’tishis essence for the handkerchief; on the other is 
written “Regenerative Unction” — ’tis his invaluable pomatum for 
the hair. 

There is no doubt about it : Eglantine’s knowledge of his pro- 
fession amounts to genius. He sells a cake of soap for seven shillings, 
for which another man would not get a shilling, and his toothbrushes 
go off like wildfire at half-a-guinea apiece. If he has to administer 
rouge or pearl-powder to ladies, he does it with a mystery and fascin- 
ation which there is no resisting, and the ladies believe there are no 
cosmetics like his. He gives his wares unheard-of names, and obtains 
for them sums equally prodigious. He can dress hair — that is a fact 
— as few men in this age can ; and has been known to take twenty 
pounds in a single night from as many of the first ladies of England 
when ringlets were in fashion. The introduction of bands, he says, 
made a difference of two thousand pounds a year in his income ; and 
if there is one thing in the world he hates and despises, it is a 
Madonna. “ I’m not,” says he, “ a tradesman — I’m a hartist ” (Mr. 


374 


MEN’S WIVES 


Eglantine was born in London) — “ I’m a hartist ; and show me a 
fine ’ead of ’air, and I’ll dress it for nothink.” He vows that it was 
his way of dressing Mademoiselle Sontag’s hair, that caused the count 
her husband to fall in love with her ; and he has a lock of it in a 
brooch, and says it was the finest head he ever saw, except one, and 
that was Morgiana Crump’s. 

With his genius and his position in the profession, how comes it, 
then, that Mr. Eglantine was not a man of fortune, as many a less 
clever has been ? If the truth must be told, he loved pleasure, and 
was in the hands of the Jews. He had been in business' twenty 
years : he had borrowed a thousand pounds to purchase his stock 
and shop ; and he calculated that he had paid upwards of twenty 
thousand pounds for the use of the one thousand, which was still as 
much due as on the first day when he entered business. He could 
show that he had received a thousand dozen of champagne from the 
disinterested money-dealers with whom he usually negotiated his 
paper. He had pictures all over his “studios,” which had been 
purchased in the same bargains. If he sold his goods at an enormous 
price, he paid for them at a rate almost equally exorbitant. There 
was not an article in his shop but came to him through his Israelite 
providers; and in the very front shop itself sat a gentleman who was 
the nominee of one of them, and who was called Mr. Mossrose. He 
was there to superintend the cash account, and to see that certain 
instalments were paid to his principals, according to certain agree- 
ments entered into between Mr. Eglantine and them. 

Having that sort of opinion of Mr. Mossrose which Damocles 
may have had of the sword which hung over his head, of course Mr. 
Eglantine hated his foreman profoundly. “ He an artist ! ” would the 
former gentleman exclaim ; “ why, he’s only a disguised bailiff ! 
Mossrose indeed ! The chap’s name’s Amos, and he sold oranges 
before he came here.” Mr. Mossrose, on his side, utterly despised 
Mr. Eglantine, and looked forward to the day when he would become 
the proprietor of the shop, and take Eglantine for a foreman ; and 
then it would be his turn to sneer and bully, and ride the high horse. 

Thus it will be seen that there was a skeleton in the great per- 
fumer’s house, as the saying is : a worm in his heart’s core, and though 
to all appearance prosperous, he was really in an awkward position. 

What Mr. Eglantine’s relations were with Mr. Walker may be 
imagined from the following dialogue which took place between the 
two gentlemen at five o’clock one summer’s afternoon, when Mr. 
Walker, issuing from his chambers, came across to the perfumer’s 
shop : — 

“Is Eglantine at home, Mr. Mossrose!” said Walker to the 
foreman, who sat in the front shop. 


THE RAVENSWING 375 

“ Don’t know — go and look ” (meaning go and be hanged) ; for 
Mossrose also hated Mr. Walker. 

“ If you’re uncivil I’ll break your bones, Mr. Amos” says Mr. 
Walker sternly. 

“ I should like to see you try, Mr. Hooker Walker,” replies 
the undaunted shopman ; on which the Captain, looking several 
tremendous canings at him, walked into the back room or “ studio.” 

“How are you, Tiny, my buck]” says the Captain. “Much 
doing ] ” 

“Not a soul in town. I ’aven’t touched the hirons all day,” 
replied Mr. Eglantine, in rather a desponding way. 

“ Well, just get them ready now, and give my whiskers a turn. 
I’m going to dine with Billingsgate and some out-and-out fellows at 
the ‘ Regent,’ and so, my lad, just do your best.” 

“I can’t,” says Mr. Eglantine. “I expect ladies, Captain, 
every minute.” 

“Very good; I don’t want to trouble such a great man, I’m 
sure. Good-bye, and let me hear from you this day week , Mr. 
Eglantine.” “ This day week ” meant that at seven days from 
that time a certain bill accepted by Mr. Eglantine would be due, 
and presented for payment. 

“Don’t be in such a hurry, Captain — do sit down. I’ll curl 
you in one minute. And, I say, won’t the party renew ? ” 

“ Impossible — it’s the third renewal.” 

“ But I’ll make the thing handsome to you ; — indeed I will.” 

“ How much ] ” 

“ Will ten pounds do the business ] ” 

“ What ! offer my principal ten pounds ] Are you mad, Eglan- 
tine ] — A little more of the iron to the left whisker.” 

“No, I meant for commission.” 

“ Well, I’ll see if that will do. The party I deal with, Eglan- 
tine, has power, I know, and can defer the matter no doubt. As 
for me, you know, Fve nothing to do in the affair, and only act 
as a friend between you and him. I give you my honour and 
soul, I do.” 

“ I know you do, my dear sir.” The last two speeches were 
lies. The perfumer knew perfectly well that Mr. Walker would 
pocket the ten pounds ; but he was too easy to care for paying it, 
and too timid to quarrel with such a powerful friend. And he had 
on three different occasions already paid ten pounds fine for the 
renewal of the bill in question, all of which bonuses he knew went 
to his friend Mr. Walker. 

Here, too, the reader will perceive what was, in part, the 
meaning of the word “Agency” on Mr. Walker’s door. He was 


MEN’S WIVES 


376 

a go-between between money-lenders and borrowers in this world, 
and certain small sums always remained with him in the course 
of the transaction. He was an agent for wine, too ; an agent for 
places to be had through the influence of great men ; he was an 
agent for half-a-dozen theatrical people, male and female, and had 
the interests of the latter especially, it was said, at heart. Such 
were a few of the means by which this worthy gentleman contrived 
to support himself, and if, as he was fond of high living, gambling, 
and pleasures of all kinds, his revenue was not large enough for 
his expenditure — why, he got into debt, and settled his bills that 
way. He was as much at home in the Fleet, as in Pall Mall, 
and quite as happy in the one place as in the other. “ That’s 
the way I take things,” would this philosopher say. “ If I’ve 
money, I spend ; if I’ve credit, I borrow ; if I’m dunned, I white- 
wash; and so you can’t beat me down.” Happy elasticity of 
temperament ! I do believe that, in spite of his misfortunes and 
precarious position, there was no man in England whose conscience 
was more calm, and whose slumbers were more tranquil, than those 
of Captain Howard Walker. 

As he was sitting under the hands of Mr. Eglantine, he reverted 
to “ the ladies,” whom the latter gentleman professed to expect ; 
said he was a sly dog, a lucky ditto, and asked him if the ladies 
were handsome. 

Eglantine thought there could be no harm in telling a bouncer 
to a gentleman with whom he was engaged in money transactions ; 
and so, to give the Captain an idea of his solvency and the bril- 
liancy of his future prospects, “ Captain,” said he, “ I’ve got a 
hundred and eighty pounds out with you, which you were obliging 
enough to negotiate for me. Have I, or have I not, two bills out 
to that amount ? ” 

“Well, my good fellow, you certainly have ; and what then?” 

“What then? Why, I bet you five pounds to one, that in 
three months those bills are paid.” 

“ Done ! five pounds to one. I take it.” 

This sudden closing with him made the perfumer rather uneasy ; 
but he was not to pay for three months, and so he said “ Done ! ” 
too, and went on : “ What -would you say if your bills -were paid ? ” 

“ Not mine ; Pike’s.” 

“ Well, if Pike’s were paid ; and the Minories man paid, and 
every single liability I have cleared off; and that Mossrose flung 
out of winder, and me and my emporium as free as hair ? ” 

“You don’t say so? Is Queen Anne dead? and has she left 
you a fortune ? or what’s the luck in the wind now ? ” 

“ It’s better than Queen Anne, or anybody dying. What should 


THE RAVENSWING 


377 


you say to seeing in that very place where Mossrose now sits (hang 
him !) — -seeing the finest head of ’ air now in Europe .? A woman, I 
tell you — a slap-up lovely woman, who, I’m proud to say, will soon 
be called Mrs. Heglantine, and will bring me five thousand pounds 
to her fortune.” 

“Well, Tiny, this is good luck indeed. I say, you’ll be able 
to do a bill or two for me then, hay? You won’t forget an old 
friend ? ” 

“ That I won’t. I shall have a place at my board for you, 
Capting ; and many’s the time I shall ’ope to see you under that 
ma’ogany.” 

“What will the French milliner say? She’ll hang herself for 
despair, Eglantine.” 

“ Hush ! not a word about ’er. I’ve sown all my wild oats, I 
tell you. Eglantine is no longer the gay young bachelor, but the 
sober married man. I want a heart to share the feelings of mine. 
I want repose. I’m not so young as I was : I feel it.” 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! you are — you are ” 

“Well, but I sigh for an ’appy fireside; and I’ll have it.” 

“And give up that club which you belong to, hay?” 

“ ‘ The Kidneys ? ’ Oh ! of course, no married man should 
belong to such places : at least, /’ll not ; and I’ll have my kidneys 
broiled at home. But be quiet, Captain, if you please ; the ladies 
appointed to ” 

“ And is it the lady you expect ? eh, you rogue ! ” 

“Well, get along. It’s her and her ma.” 

But Mr. Walker determined he wouldn’t get along, and would 
see these lovely ladies before he stirred. 

The operation on Mr. Walker’s whiskers being concluded, he 
was arranging his toilet before the glass in an agreeable attitude : 
his neck out, his enormous pin settled in his stock to his satisfac- 
tion, his eyes complacently directed towards the reflection of his left 
and favourite whisker. Eglantine was laid on a settee, in an easy, 
though melancholy posture ; he was twiddling the tongs with which 
he had just operated on Walker with one hand, and his right-hand 
ringlet with the other, and he was thinking — thinking of Morgiana ; 
and then of the bill which was to become due on the 16 th ; and 
then of a light-blue velvet waistcoat with gold sprigs, in which he 
looked very killing, and so was trudging round in his little circle of 
loves, fears, and vanities. “ Hang it ! ” Mr. Walker was thinking, 
“ I am a handsome man. A pair of whiskers like mine are not met 
with every day. If anybody can see that my tuft is dyed, may I 

be ” When the door was flung open, and a large lady with a 

curl on the forehead, yellow shawl, a green velvet bonnet with 


MEN’S WIVES 


378 

feathers, half-boots, and a drab gown with tulips and other large 
exotics painted on it — when, in a word, Mrs. Crump and her 
daughter bounced into the room. 

“Here we are, Mr. E.,” cries Mrs. Crump, in a gay foldtre 
confidential air. “ But law ! there’s a gent in the room ! ” 

“Don’t mind me, ladies,” said the gent alluded to, in his 
fascinating way. “I’m a friend of Eglantine’s; ain’t I, Egg? a 
chip of the old block, hay ? ” 

u That you are,” said the perfumer, starting up. 

“An ’air-dresser?” asked Mrs. Crump. “Well, I thought he 
was ; there’s something, Mr. E., in gentlemen of your profession so 
exceeding, so uncommon distangy .” 

“ Madam, you do me proud,” replied the gentleman so compli- 
mented, with great presence of mind. “Will you allow me to try 
my skill upon you, or upon Miss, your lovely daughter? I’m not 
so clever as Eglantine, but no bad hand, I assure you.” 

“Nonsense, Captain,” interrupted the perfumer, who was un- 
comfortable somehow at the rencontre between the Captain and the 
object of his affection. “ He's not in the profession, Mrs. C. This 
is my friend Captain Walker, and proud I am to call him my 
friend.” And then aside to Mrs. C., “One of the first swells on 
town, ma’am — a regular tiptopper.” 

Humouring the mistake which Mrs. Crump had just made, 
Mr. Walker thrust the curling-irons into the fire in a minute, and 
looked round at the ladies with such a fascinating grace, that both, 
now made acquainted with his quality, blushed and giggled, and 
were quite pleased. Mamma looked at ’Gina, and ’Gina looked at 
mamma; and then mamma gave ’Gina a little blow in the region 
of her little waist, and then both burst out laughing, as ladies will 
laugh, and as, let us trust, they may laugh for ever and ever. 
Why need there be a reason for laughing ? Let us laugh when we 
are laughy, as we sleep when we are sleepy. And so Mrs. Crump 
and her demoiselle laughed to their hearts’ content ; and both fixed 
their large shining black eyes repeatedly on Mr. Walker. 

“ I won’t leave the room,” said he, coming forward with the 
heated iron in his hand, and smoothing it on the brown paper with 
all the dexterity of a professor (for the fact is, Mr. W. every 
morning curled his own immense whiskers with the greatest skill 
and care) — “ I won’t leave the room, Eglantine my boy. My lady 
here took me for a hairdresser, and so, you know, I’ve a right 
to stay.” 

“ He can’t stay,” said Mrs. Crump, all of a sudden, blushing 
as red as a peony. 

“I shall have on my peignoir, mamma,” said Miss, looking 


THE RAVENSWING 379 

at the gentleman, and then dropping . down her eyes and blush- 
ing too. 

“ But lie can’t stay, ’Gina, I tell you : do you think that I 
would, before a gentleman, take off my ” 

“ Mamma means her front!” said Miss, jumping up, and 
beginning to laugh with all her might ; at which the honest land- 
lady of the “ Bootjack,” who loved a joke, although at her own 
expense, laughed too, and said that no one, except Mr. Crump 
and Mr. Eglantine, had ever seen her without the ornament in 
question. 

“Do go now, you provoking thing, you!” continued Miss C. 
to Mr. Walker ; “ I wish to hear the hoverture, and it’s six o’clock 
now, and we shall never be done against then : ” but the way in 
which Morgiana said “Do go,” clearly indicated “don’t” to the 
perspicacious mind of Mr. Walker. 

“ Perhaps you ’ad better go,” continued Mr. Eglantine, joining 
in this sentiment, and being, in truth, somewhat uneasy at the 
admiration which his “ swell friend ” excited. 

“ I’ll see you hanged first, Eggy my boy ! Go I won’t, until 
these ladies have had their hair dressed: didn’t you yourself tell 
me that Miss Crump’s was the most beautiful hair in Europe 1 ? 
And do you think that I’ll go away without seeing it? No, here 
I stay.” 

“You naughty wicked odious provoking man ! ” said Miss 
Crump. But, at the same time, she took off her bonnet, and 
placed it on one of the side candlesticks of Mr. Eglantine’s glass 
(it was a black-velvet bonnet, trimmed with sham lace, and with 
a wreath of nasturtiums, convolvuluses, and wallflowers within), 
and then said, “Give me the peignoir, Mr. Archibald, if you 
please ; ” and Eglantine, who would do anything for her when she 
called him Archibald, immediately produced that garment, and 
wrapped round the delicate shoulders of the lady, who, removing 
a sham gold chain which she wore on her forehead, two brass hair- 
combs set with glass rubies, and the comb which kept her back 
hair together — removing them, I say, and turning her great eyes 
towards the stranger, and giving her head a shake, down let tumble 
such a flood of shining, waving, heavy, glossy, jetty hair, as would 
have done Mr. Rowland’s heart good to see. It tumbled down 
Miss Morgiana’s back, and it tumbled over her shoulders, it tumbled 
over the chair on which she sat, and from the midst of it her jolly 
bright-eyed rosy face beamed out with a triumphant smile, which 
said, “ A’n’t I now the most angelic being you ever saw ? ” 

“ By Heaven ! it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw ! ” cried 
Mr. Walker, with undisguised admiration. 


380 


MEN’S WIVES 

“ Isn't it ? ” said Mrs. Crump, who made her daughter’s triumph 
her own. “ Heigho ! when I acted at ‘ The Wells ’ in 1820, before 
that dear girl was born, I had such a head of hair as that, to a 
shade, sir, to a shade. They called me Ravenswing on account of 
it. I lost my head of hair when that dear child was born, and I 
often say to her, ‘ Morgiana, you came into the world to rob your 
mother of her ’air.’ Were you ever at ‘The Wells,’ sir, in 1820“? 
Perhaps you recollect Miss Delaney 1 I am that Miss Delaney. 
Perhaps you recollect — 

“ ‘Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, 

By the light of the star, 

On the blue river’s brink, 

I heard a guitar. 

‘ I heard a guitar. 

On the blue waters clear, 

And knew by its mu-u-sic, 

That Selim was near ! ’ 


You remember that in the ‘ Bagdad Bells ’ ? Fatima, Delaney ; 
Selim, Benlomond (his real name was Bunnion : and he failed, 
poor fellow, in the public line afterwards). It was done to the 
tambourine, and dancing between each verse — 

“ ‘ Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, 

How the soft music swells. 

And I hear the soft clink 
Of the minaret bells ! 

‘ Tink-a ’ ” 

“Oh ! ” here cried Miss Crump, as if in exceeding pain (and 
whether Mr. Eglantine had twitched, pulled, or hurt any one 
individual hair of that lovely head, I don’t know) — “ Oh, you are 
killing me, Mr. Eglantine ! ” 

And with this mamma, who was in her attitude, holding up 
the end of her boa as a visionary tambourine, and Mr. Walker, 
who was looking at her, and in his amusement at the mother’s 
performances had almost forgotten the charms of the daughter — 
both turned round at once, and looked at her with many expres- 
sions of sympathy, while Eglantine, in a voice of reproach, said, 
“ Killed you, Morgiana ! I kill you ? ” 

“ I’m better now,” said the young lady, with a smile — “ I’m 
better, Mr. Archibald, now.” And if the truth must be told, no 
greater coquette than Miss Morgiana existed in all Mayfair — no, 


THE RAVENSWING 


381 


not among the most fashionable mistresses of the fashionable valets 
who frequented the “ Bootjack.” She believed herself to be the 
most fascinating creature that the world ever produced ; she never 
saw a stranger but she tried these fascinations upon him ; and her 
charms of manner and person were of that showy sort which is 
most popular in this world, where people are wont to admire most 
that which gives them the least trouble to see ; and so you will 
find a tulip of a woman to be in fashion when a little humble 
violet or daisy of creation is passed over without remark. Mor- 
giana was a tulip among women, and the tulip fanciers all came 
flocking round her. 

Well, the said “ Oh ! ” and “ I’m better now, Mr. Archibald,” 
thereby succeeded in drawing everybody’s attention to her lovely 
self. By the latter words Mr. Eglantine was specially inflamed; 
he glanced at Mr. Walker, and said, “ Capting ! didn’t I tell you 
she was a creecher ? See her hair, sir : it’s as black and as glossy 
as satting. It weighs fifteen pound, that hair, sir ; and I wouldn’t 
let my apprentice — that blundering Mossrose, for instance (hang 
him !) — I wouldn’t let any one but myself dress that hair for five 
hundred guineas ! Ah, Miss Morgiana, remember that you may 
always have Eglantine to dress your hair ! — remember that, that’s 
all.” And with this the worthy gentleman began rubbing delicately 
a little of the Eglantinia into those ambrosial locks, which he loved 
with all the love of a man and an artist. 

And as for Morgiana showing her hair, I hope none of my 
readers will entertain a bad opinion of the poor girl for doing so. 
Her locks were her pride ; she acted at the private theatre “ hair 
parts,” where she could appear on purpose to show them in a 
dishevelled state ; and that her modesty was real, and not affected, 
may be proved by the fact that when Mr. Walker, stepping up 
in the midst of Eglantine’s last speech, took hold of a lock of her 
hair very gently with his hand, she cried “ Oh ! ” and started with 
all her might. And Mr. Eglantine observed very gravely, “Cap- 
ting ! Miss Crump’s hair is to be seen and not to be touched, if 
you please.” 

“No more it is, Mr. Eglantine,” said her mamma. “ And now, 
as it’s come to my turn, I beg the gentleman will be so obliging as 
to go.” 

“ Must I?” cried Mr. Walker; and as it was half-past six, and 
he was engaged to dinner at the “ Regent Club,” and as he did not 
wish to make Eglantine jealous, who evidently was annoyed by his 
staying, he took his hat just as Miss Crump’s coiffure was completed, 
and saluting her and her mamma, left the room. 

“A tiptop swell, I can assure you,” said Eglantine, nodding 


382 


MEN’S WIVES 


after him : “a regular hang-up chap, and no mistake. Intimate 
with the Marquess of Billingsgate, and Lord Vauxhall, and that 
set.” 

“ He’s very genteel,” said Mrs. Crump. 

“ Law ! I’m sure I think nothing of him,” said Morgiana. 

And Captain Walker walked towards his club, meditating on 
the beauties of Morgiana. “What hair,” said he, “what eyes the 
girl has ! they’re as big as billiard-balls ; and five thousand pounds. 
Eglantine’s in luck ! five thousand pounds — she can’t have it, it’s 
impossible ! ” 

No sooner was Mrs. Crump’s front arranged, during the time of 
which operation Morgiana sat in perfect contentment looking at the 
last French fashions in the Courrier des Dames, and thinking how 
her pink satin slip would dye, and make just such a mantilla as that 
represented in the engraving — no sooner was Mrs. Crump’s front 
arranged, than both ladies, taking leave of Mr. Eglantine, tripped 
back to the “ Bootjack Hotel ” in the neighbourhood, where a very 
neat green fly was already in waiting, the gentleman on the box of 
which (from a livery-stable in the neighbourhood) gave a knowing 
touch to his hat, and a salute with his whip to the two ladies, as 
they entered the tavern. 

“ Mr. W.’s inside,” said the man — a driver from Mr. Snaffle’s 
establishment ; “ he’s been in and out this score of times, and look- 
ing down the street for you.” And in the house, in fact, was Mr. 
Woolsey, the tailor, who had hired the fly, and was engaged to 
conduct the ladies that evening to the play. 

It was really rather too bad to think that Miss Morgiana, after 
going to one lover to have her hair dressed, should go with another 
to the play ; but such is the way with lovely woman ! Let her 
have a dozen admirers, and the dear coquette will exercise her power 
upon them all : and as a lady, when she has a large wardrobe, and 
a taste for variety in dress, will appear every day in a different 
costume, so will the young and giddy beauty wear her lovers, en- 
couraging now the black whiskers, now smiling on the brown, now 
thinking that the gay smiling rattle of an admirer becomes her very 
well, and now adopting the sad sentimental melancholy one, according 
as her changeful fancy prompts her. Let us not be too angry 
with these uncertainties and caprices of beauty ; and depend on it 
that, for the most part, those females who cry out loudest against 
the flightiness of their sisters, and rebuke their undue encouragement 
of this man or that, would do as much themselves if they had the 
chance, and are constant, as I am to my coat just now, because I 
have no other. 

“Did you see Doubleyou, ’Gina dear?” said her mamma, 


THE RAVENSWING 


383 


addressing that young lady. “He’s in the bar with your pa, and has 
his military coat with the king’s buttons, and looks like an officer.” 

This was Mr. Woolsey’s style, his great aim being to look like 
an army gent, for many of whom he in his capacity of tailor made 
those splendid red and blue coats which characterise our military. 
As for the royal button, had not he made a set of coats for his late 
Majesty, George IV. ? and he would add, when he narrated this 
circumstance, “ Sir, Prince Blucher and Prince Swartzenberg’s 
measure’s in the house now ; and what’s more, I’ve cut for 
Wellington.” I believe he would have gone to St. Helena to make 
a coat for Napoleon, so great was his ardour. He wore a blue-black 
wig, and his whiskers were of the same hue. He was brief and 
stern in conversation ; and he always went to masquerades and balls 
in a field-marshal’s uniform. 

“ He looks really quite the thing to-night,” continued Mrs. 
Crump. 

“ Yes,” said ’Gina; “but he’s such an odious wig, and the dye 
of his whiskers always comes off on his white gloves.” 

“ Everybody has not their own hair, love,” continued Mrs. 
Crump with a sigh; “but Eglantine’s is beautiful.” 

“Every hairdresser’s is,” answered Morgiana, rather contemp- 
tuously ; “ but what I can’t bear is that their fingers is always so 
very fat and pudgy.” 

In fact, something had gone wrong with the fair ' Morgiana. 
Was it that she had but little liking for the one pretender or the 
other ? Was it that young Glauber, who acted Romeo in the private 
theatricals, was far younger and more agreeable than either? Or 
w T as it, that seeing a real gentleman , such as Mr. Walker, with 
whom she had had her first interview, she felt more and more the 
want of refinement in her other declared admirers ? Certain, how- 
ever, it is, that she was very reserved all the evening, in spite of 
the attentions of Mr. Woolsey ; that she repeatedly looked round at 
the box-door, as if she expected some one to enter ; and that she 
partook of only a very few oysters, indeed, out of the barrel which 
the gallant tailor had sent down to the “ Bootjack,” and off which 
the party supped. 

“ What is it ? ” said Mr. Woolsey to his ally, Crump, as they 
sat together after the retirement of the ladies. “ She was dumb 
all night. She never once laughed at the farce, nor cried at the 
tragedy, and you know she laughs and cries uncommon. She only 
took half her negus, and not above a quarter of her beer.” 

“No more she did!” replied Mr. Crump, very calmly. “I 
think it must be the barber as has been captivating her : he dressed 
her hair for the play.” 


384 


MEN’S WIVES 


“Hang him, I’ll shoot him!” said Mr. Woolsey. “A fat 
foolish effeminate beast like that marry Miss Morgiana ? Never! 
I will shoot him. I’ll provoke him next Saturday — I’ll tread on 
his toe — I’ll pull his nose.” 

“No quarrelling at the ‘ Kidneys ’ ! ” am rered Crump sternly ; 
“ there shall be no quarrelling in that room as long as Y’m in the 
chair ! ” 

“Well, at any rate you’ll stand my friend?” 

“ You know I will,” answered the other. “ You are honourable, 
and I like you better than Eglantine. I trust you more than 
Eglantine, sir. You’re more of a man than Eglantine, though you 
are a tailor ; and I wish with all my heart you may get Morgiana. 
Mrs. C. goes the other way, I know : but I tell you what, women 
will go their own ways, sir, and Morgy’s like her mother in this 
point, and depend upon it, Morgy will decide for herself.” 

Mr. Woolsey presently went home, still persisting in his plan 
for the assassination of Eglantine. Mr. Crump went to bed very 
quietly, and snored through the night in his usual tone. Mr. 
Eglantine passed some feverish moments of jealousy, for he had 
come down to the club in the evening, and had heard that Morgiana 
was gone to the play with his rival. And Miss Morgiana dreamed 
of a man who was — must we say it? — exceedingly like Captain 
Howard Walker. “ Mrs. Captain So-and-so ! ” thought she. “ Oh, 
I do love a gentleman dearly ! ” 

And about this time, too, Mr. Walker himself came rolling 
home from the “Regent,” hiccuping. “Such hair! — such eye- 
brows ! — such eyes ! like b-b-billiard-balls, by Jove ! ” 


CHAPTER II 


IN WHICH MR. WALKER MAKES THREE ATTEMPTS TO 
ASCERTAIN THE DWELLING OF MORGIANA 

T HE day after the dinner at the “ Regent Club,” Mr. Walker 
stepped over to the shop of his friend the perfumer, where, as 
usual, the young man, Mr. Mossrose, was established in the 
front premises. 

For some reason or other, the Captain was particularly good- 
humoured ; and, quite forgetful of the words which had passed 
between him and Mr. Eglantine’s lieutenant the day before, began 
addressing the latter with extreme cordiality. 

“ A good morning to you, Mr. Mossrose,” said Captain Walker. 
“Why, sir, you look as fresh as your namesake — you do, indeed, 
now, Mossrose.” 

“ You look ash yellow ash a guinea,” responded Mr. Mossrose 
sulkily. He thought the Captain was hoaxing him. 

“ My good sir,” replies the other, nothing cast down, “ I drank 
rather too freely last night.” 

“ The more beast you ! ” said Mr. Mossrose. 

“ Thank you, Mossrose ; the same to you,” answered the 
Captain. 

“ If you call me a beast, I’ll punch your head off ! ” answered the 
young man, who had much skill in the art which many of his brethren 
practise. 

“ I didn’t, my fine fellow,” replied Walker. “ On the contrary, 
you ” 

“ Do you mean to give me the lie 'l ” broke out the indignant 
Mossrose, who hated the agent fiercely, and did not in the least care 
to conceal his hate. 

In fact, it was his fixed purpose to pick a quarrel with Walker, 
and to drive him, if possible, from Mr. Eglantine’s shop. “ Do you 
mean to give me the lie, I say, Mr. Hooker Walker 1 ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Amos, hold your tongue ! ” exclaimed the 
Captain, to whom the name of Hooker was as poison ; but at this 
moment a customer stepping in, Mr. Amos exchanged his ferocious 
aspect for a bland grin, and Mr. Walker walked into the studio. 

4 2 b 


386 MEN’S WIVES 

When in Mr. Eglantine’s presence, Walker, too, was all smiles 
in a minute, sank down on a settee, held out his hand to the perfumer, 
and began confidentially discoursing with him. 

“ Such a dinner, Tiny my boy,” said he ; “ such prime fellows 
to eat it, too ! Billingsgate, Vauxhall, Cinqbars, Buff of the 
Blues, and half-a-dozen more of the best fellows in town. And 
what do you think the dinner cost a head ? I’ll wager you’ll never 
guess.” 

“Was it two guineas a head ? — In course I mean without wine,” 
said the genteel perfumer. 

“ Guess again ! ” 

“Well, was it ten guineas a head? I’ll guess any sum you 
please,” replied Mr. Eglantine : “ for I know that when you nobs 
are together, you don’t spare your money. I myself, at the ‘ Star 
and Garter ’ at Richmond, once paid ” 

“ Eighteenpence ? ” 

“ Heighteenpence, sir ! — I paid five-and-thirty shillings per ’ead. 
I’d have you to know that I can act as a gentleman as well as 
any other gentleman, sir,” answered the perfumer with much 
dignity. 

“Well, eighteenpence was what we paid, and not a rap more, 
upon my honour.” 

“Nonsense, you’re joking. The Marquess of Billinsgate dine 
for eighteenpence ! Why, hang it, if I was a marquess, I’d pay a 
five-pound note for my lunch.” 

“You little know the person, Master Eglantine,” replied the 
Captain, with a smile of contemptuous superiority ; “ you little 
know the real man of fashion, my good fellow. Simplicity, sir — 
simplicity’s the characteristic of the real gentleman, and so I’ll tell 
you what we had for dinner.” 

“ Turtle and venison, of course : — no nob dines without them.” 

“ Psha ! we’re sick of ’em ! We had pea-soup and boiled tripe ! 
What do you think of that ? We had sprats and herrings, a 
bullock’s heart, a baked shoulder of mutton and potatoes, pig’s-fry 
and Irish stew. I ordered the dinner, sir, and got more credit for 
inventing it than they ever gave to Ude or Soyer. The Marquess 
was in ecstasies, the Earl devoured half a bushel of sprats, and if 
the Viscount is not laid up with a surfeit of bullock’s heart, my 
name’s not Howard Walker. Billy, as I call him, was in the 
chair, and gave my health; and what do you think the rascal 
proposed ? ” 

“ What did his Lordship propose ? ” 

“ That every man present should subscribe twopence, and pay 
for my share of the dinner. By Jove ! it is true, and the money 


THE RAVENSWING 


387 


was handed to me in a pewter-pot, of which they also begged to make 
me a present. We afterwards went to Tom Spring’s, from Tom’s 
to the ‘ Finish,’ from the ‘ Finish ’ to the watch-house — that is, they 
did — and sent for me, just as I was getting into bed, to bail them 
all out.” 

“ They’re happy dogs, those young noblemen,” said Mr. Eglan- 
tine ; “ nothing but pleasure from morning till night ; no affectation 
neither — no hoture ; but manly, downright, straightforward, good 
fellows.” 

“Should you like to meet them, Tiny my boy 1 ?” said the 
Captain. 

“ If I did, sir, I hope I should show myself to be the gentle- 
man,” answered Mr. Eglantine. 

“Well, you shall meet them, and Lady Billingsgate shall order 
her perfumes at your shop. We are going to dine, next week, all 
our set, at Mealy-faced Bob’s, and you shall be my guest,” cried the 
Captain, slapping the delighted artist on the back. “And now, 
my boy, tell me how you spent the evening.” 

“ At my club, sir,” answered Mr. Eglantine, blushing rather. 

“What! not at the play with the lovely black-eyed Miss 

What is her name, Eglantine 1 ” 

“Never mind her name, Captain,” replied Eglantine, partly 
from prudence and partly from shame. He had not the heart to 
own it was Crump, and he did not care that the Captain should 
know more of his destined bride. 

“You wish to keep the five thousand to yourself— eh, you 
rogue % ” responded the Captain, with a good-humoured air, although 
exceedingly mortified ; for, to say the truth, he had put himself to 
the trouble of telling the above long story of the dinner, and of 
promising to introduce Eglantine to the lords, solely that he might 
elicit from that gentleman’s good-humour some further particulars 
regarding the young lady with the billiard-ball eyes. It was for 
the very same reason, too, that he had made the attempt at recon- 
ciliation with Mr. Mossrose which had just so signally failed. Nor 
would the reader, did he know Mr. W. better, at all require to have 
the above explanation ; but as yet we are only at the first chapter 
of his history, and who is to know what the hero’s motives can be 
unless we take the trouble to explain 

Well, the little dignified answer of the worthy dealer in 
bergamot, “ Never mind her name , Captain ! ” threw the gallant 
Captain quite aback; and though he sat for a quarter of an hour 
longer, and was exceedingly kind ; and though he threw out some 
skilful hints, yet the perfumer was quite unconquerable ; or, rather, 
he was too frightened to tell : the. poor, fat, timid, easy, good- 


388 


MEN’S WIVES 


natured gentleman was always the prey of rogues, — panting and 
floundering in one rascal’s snare or another’s. He had the dissimu- 
lation, too, which timid men have; and felt the presence of a 
victimiser as a hare does of a greyhound. Now he would be quite 
still, now he would double, and now he would run, and then came 
the end. He knew, by his sure instinct of fear, that the Captain 
had, in asking these questions, a scheme against him, and so he was 
cautious, and trembled, and doubted. And oh ! how he thanked 
his stars when Lady Grogmore’s chariot drove up, with the Misses 
Grogmore, who wanted their hair dressed, and were going to a 
breakfast at three o’clock ! 

“ I’ll look in again, Tiny,” said the Captain, on hearing the 
summons. 

“ Do, Captain,” said the other : “ thank you ; ” and went into 
the lady’s studio with a heavy heart. 

“ Get out of the way, you infernal villain ! ” roared the Captain, 
with many oaths, to Lady Grogmore’s large footman, with ruby- 
coloured tights, who was standing inhaling the ten thousand per- 
fumes of the shop ; and the latter, moving away in great terror, 
the gallant agent passed out, quite heedless of the grin of Mr. 
Mossrose. 

Walker was in a fury at his want of success, and walked down 
Bond Street in a fury. “ I will know where the girl lives ! ” swore 
he. “ I’ll spend a five-pound note, by Jove ! rather than not know 
where she lives ! ” 

“ That you would — I know you would ! ” said a little grave 
low voice, all of a sudden, by his side. “ Pooh ! what’s money to 
you ? ” 

Walker looked down : it was Tom Dale. 

Who in London did not know little Tom Dale 'l He had cheeks 
like an apple, and his hair curled every morning, and a little blue 
stock, and always two new magazines under his arm, and an 
umbrella and a little brown frock-coat, and big square-toed shoes 
with which he went papping down the street. He was everywhere 
at once. Everybody met him every day, and he knew everything 
that everybody ever did ; though nobody ever knew what he did. 
He was, they say, a hundred years old, and had never dined at his 
own charge once in those hundred years. He looked like a figure 
out of a waxwork, with glassy clear meaningless eyes : he always 
spoke with a grin ; he knew what you had for dinner the day 
before he met you, and what everybody had had for dinner for a 
century back almost. He was the receptacle of all the scandal of 
all the world, from Bond Street to Bread Street ; he knew all the 
authors, all the actors, all the “notorieties” of the town, and the 


THE RAVENSWING 389 

private histories of each. That is, he never knew anything really, 
but supplied deficiencies of truth and memory with ready-coined, 
never-failing lies. He was the most benevolent man in the universe, 
and never saw you without telling you everything most cruel of 
your neighbour, and when he left you he went to do the same kind 
turn by yourself. 

“ Pooh ! what’s money to you, my dear boy ? ” said little Tom 
Dale, who had just come out of Ebers’s, where he had been filching 
an opera-ticket. “You make it in bushels in the City, you know 
you do — in thousands. I saw you go into Eglantine’s. Fine 
business that ; finest in London. Five-shilling cakes of soap, my 
dear boy. I can’t wash with such. Thousands a year that man 
has made — hasn’t he ? ” 

“Upon my word, Tom, I don’t know,” says the Captain. 

“ You not know ? Don’t tell me. You know everything — you 
agents. You knotv he makes five thousand a year — ay, and might 
make ten, but you know why he don’t.” 

“ Indeed I don’t.” 

“ Nonsense. Don’t humbug a poor old fellow like me. Jews 
— Amos — fifty per cent., ay ? Why can’t he get his money from 
a good Christian ? ” 

“ I have heard something of that sort,” said Walker, laughing. 
“ Why, by Jove, Tom, you know everything ! ” 

“ You know everything, my dear boy. You know what a 
rascally trick that opera creature served him, poor fellow. Cash- 
mere shawls — Storr and Mortimer’s — 4 Star and Garter.’ Much 
better dine quiet off pea-soup and sprats — ay ? His betters have, 
as you know very well.” 

“ Pea-soup and sprats ! What ! have you heard of that 
already ? ” 

“Who bailed Lord Billingsgate, hey, you rogue?” and here 
Tom gave a knowing and almost demoniacal grin. “ Who wouldn’t 
go to the 4 Finish ’ ? Who had the piece of plate presented to him 
filled with sovereigns? And you deserved it, my dear boy — you 
deserved it. They said it was only halfpence, but I know better ! ” 
and here Tom went off in a cough. 

“ I say, Tom,” cried Walker, inspired with a sudden thought, 
44 you who know everything, and are a theatrical man, did you ever 
know a Miss Delaney, an actress ? ” 

44 At ‘Sadler’s Wells’ in ’16? Of course I did. Real name 
was Budge. Lord Slapper admired her very much, my dear boy. 
She married a man by the name of Crump, his Lordship’s black 
footman, and brought him five thousand pounds ; and they keep 
the 4 Bootjack ’ public-house in Bunker’s Buildings, and they’ve got 


MEN’S WIVES 


390 

fourteen children. Is one of them handsome, eh, you sly rogue — 
and is it that which you will give five pounds to know 1 God 
bless you, my dear dear boy. Jones, my dear friend, how are 
you 'i ” 

And now, seizing on Jones, Tom Dale left Mr. Walker alone, 
and proceeded to pour into Mr. Jones’s ear an account of the 
individual whom he had just quitted ; how he was the best fellow 
in the world, and J ones knew it ; how he was in a fine way of 
making his fortune ; how he had been in the Fleet many times, and 
how he was at this moment employed in looking out for a young 
lady of whom a certain great marquess (whom Jones knew very 
well, too) had expressed an admiration. 

But for these observations, which he did not hear, Captain 
Walker, it may be pronounced, did not care. His eyes brightened 
up, he marched quickly and gaily away ; and turning into his own 
chambers opposite Eglantine’s shop, saluted that establishment with 
a grin of triumph. “You wouldn’t tell me her name, wouldn’t 
you % ” said Mr. Walker. “ Well, the luck’s with me now, and 
here goes.” 

Two days after, as Mr. Eglantine, with white gloves and a case 
of eau-de-cologne as a present in his pocket, arrived at the “ Boot- 
jack Hotel,” Little Bunker’s Buildings, Berkeley Square (for it must 
out — that was the place in which Mr. Crump’s inn was situated), 
he paused for a moment at the threshold of the little house of 
entertainment, aud listened, with beating heart, to the sound of 
delicious music that a well-known voice was uttering within. 

The moon was playing in silvery brightness down the gutter of 
the humble street. A “helper,” rubbing down one of Lady Smigsmag’s 
carriage-horses, even paused in his whistle to listen to the strain. 
Mr. Tressle’s man, who had been professionally occupied, ceased his 
tap-tap upon the coffin which he was getting in readiness. The 
greengrocer (there is always a greengrocer in those narrow streets, 
and he goes out in white Berlin gloves as a supernumerary footman) 
was standing charmed at his little green gate ; the cobbler (there is 
always a cobbler too) was drunk, as usual, of evenings, but, with 
unusual subordination, never sang except when the refrain of the 
ditty arrived, when he hiccuped it forth with tipsy loyalty; and 
Eglantine leaned against the chequers painted on the door-side under 
the name of Crump, and looked at the red illumined curtain of the 
bar, and the vast well-known shadow of Mrs. Crump’s turban 
within. Now and again the shadow of that worthy matron’s hand 
would be seen to grasp the shadow of a bottle ; then the shadow of 
a cup would rise towards the turban, and still the strain proceeded. 
Eglantine, I say, took out his yellow bandanna, and brushed the 


THE RAVENSWING 


391 

beady drops from his brow, and laid the contents of his white kids 
on his heart, and sighed with ecstatic sympathy. The song began — 

“ Come to the greenwood tree,* 

Come where the dark woods be, 

Dearest, 0 come with me ! 

Let us rove — 0 my love — 0 my love ! 

0 my-y love ! 

(Drunken Cobbler without ) — 0 my-y love ! ” 

“ Beast ! ” says Eglantine. 

“ Come — ’tis the moonlight hour, 

Dew is on leaf and flower, 

Come to the linden bower, — 

Let us rove — 0 my love — 0 my love ! 

Let us ro-o-ove, lurlurliety ; yes, we’ll rove, lurlurliety, 

Through the gro-o-ove, lurlurliety — lurlurli-e-i-e-i-e-i ! 

( Cobbler , as usual) — Let us ro-o-ove,” &c. 

“ You here ? ” says another individual, coming clinking up the 
street, in a military-cut dress-coat, the buttons whereof shone very 
bright in the moonlight. “ You here, Eglantine ? — You’re always 
here.” 

“ Hush, Woolsey,” said Mr. Eglantine to his rival the tailor 
(for he was the individual in question) ; and Woolsey, accordingly, 
put his back against the opposite door-post and chequers, so that 
(with poor Eglantine’s bulk) nothing much thicker than a sheet of 
paper could pass out or in. And thus these two amorous caryatides 
kept guard as the song continued : — 

“ Dark is the wood, and wide, 

Dangers, they say, betide ; 

But, at my Albert’s side, 

Nought I fear, 0 my love — 0 my love ! 

Welcome the greenwood tree, 

Welcome the forest tree, 

Dearest, with thee, with thee, 

Nought I fear, 0 my love — 0 ma-a-y love ! ” 

Eglantine’s fine eyes were filled with tears as Morgiana passion- 
ately uttered the above beautiful words. Little Woolsey’s eyes 
glistened, as he clenched his fist with an oath, and said, “ Show me 
any singing that can beat that. Cobbler, shut your mouth, or I’ll 
break your head ! ” 

* The words of this song are copyright, nor will the copyright be sold for 
less than twopence-halfpenny. 


392 


MEN’S WIVES 


But the cobbler, regardless of the threat, continued to perform 
the “ Lurlurliety ” with great accuracy ; and when that was ended, 
both on his part and Morgiana’s, a rapturous knocking of glasses 
was heard in the little bar, then a great clapping of hands, and 
finally somebody shouted “ Brava ! ” 

“ Brava ! ” 

At that word Eglantine turned deadly pale, then gave a start, 
then a rush forward, which pinned, or rather cushioned, the tailor 
against the wall ; then twisting himself abruptly round, he sprang 
to the door of the bar, and bounced into that apartment. 

“ How are you , my nosegay ? ” exclaimed the same voice which 
had shouted “ Brava ! ” It was that of Captain Walker. 

At ten o’clock the next morning, a gentleman, with the King’s 
button on his military coat, walked abruptly into Mr. Eglantine’s 
shop, and, turning on Mr. Mossrose, said, “ Tell your master I want 
to see him.” 

“ He’s in his studio,” said Mr. Mossrose. 

“ Well, then, fellow, go and fetch him ! ” 

And Mossrose, thinking it must be the Lord Chamberlain, or 
Doctor Praetorius at least, walked into the studio, where the per- 
fumer was seated in a very glossy old silk dressing-gown, his fair 
hair hanging over his white face, his double chin over his flaccid 
whity-brown shirt-collar, his pea-green slippers on the hob, and 
on the fire the pot of chocolate which was simmering for his 
breakfast. A lazier fellow than poor Eglantine it would be hard 
to find; whereas, on the contrary, Woolsey was always up and 
brushed, spick-and-span, at seven o’clock; and had gone through 
his books, and given out the work for the journeymen, and eaten a 
hearty breakfast of rashers of bacon, before Eglantine had put the 
usual pound of grease to his hair (his fingers were always as damp 
and shiny as if he had them in a pomatum-pot), and arranged his 
figure for the day. 

“ Here’s a gent wants you in the shop,” says Mr. Mossrose, 
leaving the door of communication wide open. 

“ Say I’m in bed, Mr. Mossrose ; I’m out of sperrets, and really 
can see nobody.” 

“It’s some one from Vindsor, I think; he’s got the royal 
button,” says Mossrose. 

“ It’s me — Woolsey,” shouted the little man from the shop. 

Mr. Eglantine at this jumped up, made a rush to the door 
leading to his private apartment, and disappeared in a twinkling. 
But it must not be imagined that he fled in order to avoid Mr. 
Woolsey. He only went away for one minute just to put on his 
belt, for he was ashamed to be seen without it by his rival. 


THE RAVENSWING 393 

This being assumed, and his toilet somewhat arranged, Mr. 
Woolsey was admitted into his private room. And Mossrose would 
have heard every word of the conversation between those two 
gentlemen, had not Woolsey, opening the door, suddenly pounced 
on the assistant, taken him by the collar, and told him to disappear 
altogether into the shop : which Mossrose did ; vowing he would 
have his revenge. 

The subject on which Woolsey had come to treat was an im- 
portant one. “ Mr. Eglantine,” says he, “ there’s no use disguising 
from one another that we are both of us in love with Miss Morgiana, 
and that our chances up to this time have been pretty equal. But 
that Captain whom you introduced, like an ass as you were ” 

“ An ass, Mr. Woolsey ! I’d have you to know, sir, that 
I’m no more a hass than you are, sir ; and as for introducing the 
Captain, I did no such thing.” 

“Well, well, he’s got a-poaching into our preserves somehow. 
He’s evidently sweet upon the young woman, and is a more fashion- 
able chap than either of us two. We must get him out of the 
house, sir — we must circumwent him; and then , Mr. Eglantine, 
will be time enough for you and me to try which is the best man.” 

“ He the best man ! ” thought Eglantine ; “ the little bald 
unsightly tailor-creature ! A man with no more soul than his 
smoothing-hiron ! ” The perfumer, as may be imagined, did not 
utter this sentiment aloud, but expressed himself quite willing to 
enter into any hamicable arrangement by which the new candidate 
for Miss Crump’s favour must be thrown over. It was accordingly 
agreed between the two gentlemen that they should coalesce against 
the common enemy ; that they should, by reciting many perfectly 
well-founded stories in the Captain’s disfavour, influence the minds 
of Miss Crump’s parents, and of herself, if possible, against this wolf 
in sheep’s clothing ; and that, when they were once fairly rid of him, 
each should be at liberty, as before, to prefer his own claim. 

“I have thought of a subject,” said the little tailor, turning 
very red, and hemming and hawing a great deal. “I’ve thought, 
I say, of a pint, which may be resorted to with advantage at the 

present juncture, and in which each of us may be useful to the 

other. An exchange, Mr. Eglantine : do you take ? ” 

“Do you mean an accommodation bill?” said Eglantine, whose 
mind ran a good deal on that species of exchange. 

“ Pooh, nonsense, sir ! The name of our firm is, I flatter 

myself, a little more up in the market than some other people’s 

names.” 

“ Do you mean to insult the name of Archibald Eglantine, sir ? 
I’d have you to know that at three months ” 


394 


MEN’S WIVES 


“Nonsense!” says Mr. Woolsey, mastering his emotion. 
“ There’s no use a-quarrelling, Mr. E. : we’re not in love with 
each other, I know that. You wish me hanged, or as good, I 
know that ! ” 

“ Indeed I don’t, sir ! ” 

“You do, sir ; I tell you, you do ! and what’s more I wish 
the same to you — transported, at any rate ! But as two sailors, 
when a boat’s a-sinking, though they hate each other ever so much, 
will help and bale the boat out ; so, sir, let us act : let us be the 
two sailors.” 

“Bail, sir?” said Eglantine, as usual mistaking the drift of 
the argument. “ I’ll bail no man ! If you’re in difficulties, I 
think you had better go to your senior partner, Mr. Woolsey.” 
And Eglantine’s cowardly little soul was filled with a savage satis- 
faction to think that his enemy was in distress, and actually obliged 
to come to him for succour. 

“ You’re enough to make Job swear, you great fat stupid lazy 
old barber ! ” roared Mr. Woolsey, in a fury. 

Eglantine jumped up and made for the bell-rope. The gallant 
little tailor laughed. 

“ There’s no need to call in Betsy,” said he. “ I’m not a-going 
to eat you, Eglantine ; you’re a bigger man than me : if you were 
just to fall on me, you’d smother me ! Just sit still on the sofa 
and listen to reason.” 

“Well, sir, pro-ceed,” said the barber with a gasp. 

“Now, listen! What’s the darling wish of your heart? I 
know it, sir ! you’ve told it to Mr. Tressle, sir, and other gents 
at the club. The darling wish of your heart, sir, is to have a 
slap-up coat turned out of the ateliers of Messrs. Linsey, Woolsey, 
and Company. You said you’d give twenty guineas for one of our 
coats, you know you did ! Lord Bolsterton’s a fatter man than 
you, and look what a figure we turn him out. Can any firm in 
England dress Lord Bolsterton but us, so as to make his Lord- 
ship look decent? I defy ’em, sir! We could have given Daniel 
Lambert a figure ! ” 

“ If I want a coat, sir,” said Mr. Eglantine, “ and I don’t deny 
it, there’s some people want a head of hair ! ” 

“That’s the very point I was coming to,” said the tailor, 
resuming the violent blush which was mentioned as having suffused 
his countenance at the beginning of the conversation. “Let us 
have terms of mutual accommodation. Make me a wig, Mr. Eglan- 
tine, and though I never yet cut a yard of cloth except for a gentle- 
man, I’ll pledge you my word I’ll make you a coat.” 

“ Will you, honour bright?” says Eglantine. 


THE RAVENSWING 


395 


“ Honour bright,” says the tailor. “ Look ! ” and in an instant 
he drew from his pocket one of these slips of parchment which gentle- 
men of his profession carry, and putting Eglantine into the proper 
position, began to take the preliminary observations. He felt Eglan- 
tine’s heart thump with happiness as his measure passed over that 
soft part of the perfumer’s person. 

Then pulling down the window-blind, and looking that the door 
was locked, and blushing still more deeply than ever, the tailor seated 
himself in an arm-chair towards which Mr. Eglantine beckoned him, 
and, taking off his black wig, exposed his head to the great perruquier’s 
gaze. Mr. Eglantine looked at it, measured it, manipulated it, sat 
for three minutes with his head in his hand and his elbow on his 
knee, gazing at the tailor’s cranium with all his might, walked round 
it twice or thrice, and then said, “It’s enough, Mr. Woolsey. Con- 
sider the job as done. And now, sir,” said he, with a greatly relieved 
air — “and now, Woolsey, let us ’ave a glass of cura^oa to celebrate 
this hauspicious meeting.” 

The tailor, however, stiffly replied that he never drank in a 
morning, and left the room without offering to shake Mr. Eglantine 
by the hand : for he despised that gentleman very heartily, and 
himself, too, for coming to any compromise with him, and for so far 
demeaning himself as to make a coat for a barber. 

Looking from his chambers on the other side of the street, that 
inevitable Mr. Walker saw the tailor issuing from the perfumer’s 
shop, and was at no loss to guess that something extraordinary must 
be in progress when two such bitter enemies met together. 


CHAPTER III 


WHAT CAME OF MR. WALKER’S DISCOVERY OF THE 
“ BOOTJACK ” 

I T is very easy to state how the Captain came to take up that 
proud position at the “ Bootjack ” which we have seen him occupy 
on the evening when the sound of the fatal “ Brava ! ” so aston- 
ished Mr. Eglantine. 

The mere entry into the establishment was, of course, not difficult. 
Any person by simply uttering the words “ A pint of beer,” was free 
of the “ Bootjack ” ; and it was some such watchword that Howard 
Walker employed when he made his first appearance. He requested 
to be shown into a parlour where he might repose himself for a while, 
and was ushered into that very sanctum where the “ Kidney Club ” 
met. Then he stated that the beer was the best he had ever tasted, 
except in Bavaria, and in some parts of Spain, he added ; and pro- 
fessing to be extremely “peckish,” requested to know if there were 
any cold meat in the house whereof he could make a dinner. 

“ I don’t usually dine at this hour, landlord,” said he, flinging 
down a half-sovereign for payment of the beer ; “ but your parlour 
looks so comfortable, and the Windsor chairs are so snug, that I’m 
sure I could not dine better at the first club in London.” 

“ One of the first clubs in London is held in this very room,” 
said Mr. Crump, very well pleased ; “ and attended by some of the 
best gents in town, too. We call it the ‘Kidney Club.’” 

“ Why, bless my soul ! it is the very club my friend Eglantine 
has so often talked to me about, and attended by some of the tip- 
top tradesmen of the metropolis ! ” 

“There’s better men here than Mr. Eglantine,” replied Mr. 
Crump, “ though he’s a good man — I don’t say he’s not a good man 
— but there’s better. Mr. Clinker, sir ; Mr. Woolsey, of the house 

of Linsey, Woolsey, & Co. •” 

“ The great army-clothiers ! ” cried Walker ; “ the first house 
in town ! ” and so continued, with exceeding urbanity, holding 
conversation with Mr. Crump, until the honest landlord retired de- 
lighted, and told Mrs. Crump in the bar that there was a tiptop swell 
in the “ Kidney ” parlour, who was a-going to have his dinner there. 


THE RAVENSWING 397 

Fortune favoured the great Captain in every way. It was just 
Mr. Crump’s own dinner hour ; and on Mrs. Crump stepping into 
the parlour to ask the guest whether he would like a slice of the 
joint to which the family were about to sit down, fancy that lady’s 
start of astonishment at recognising Mr. Eglantine’s facetious friend 
of the day before. The Captain at once demanded permission to 
partake of the joint at the family table ; the lady could not with 
any great reason deny this request ; the Captain was inducted into 
the bar ; and Miss Crump, who always came down late for dinner, 
was even more astonished than her mamma on beholding the occupier 
of the fourth place at the table. Had she expected to see the 
fascinating stranger so soon again? I think she had. Her big 
eyes said as much, as, furtively looking up at Mr. Walker’s face, 
they caught his looks ; and then bouncing down again towards her 
plate, pretended to be very busy in looking at the boiled beef and 
carrots there displayed. She blushed far redder than those carrots, 
but her shining ringlets hid her confusion together with her lovely 
face. 

Sweet Morgiana ! the billiard-ball eyes had a tremendous effect 
on the Captain. They fell plump, as it were, into the pocket of 
his heart; and he gallantly proposed to treat the company to a 
bottle of champagne, which was accepted without much difficulty. 

Mr. Crump, under pretence of going to the cellar (where he said 
he had some cases of the finest champagne in Europe), called Dick, 
the boy, to him, and despatched him with all speed to a wine 
merchant’s, where a couple of bottles of the liquor were procured. 

“ Bring up two bottles, Mr. C.,” Captain Walker gallantly said 
when Crump made his move, as it were, to the cellar ; and it may 
be imagined after the two bottles were drunk (of which Mrs. Crump 
took at least nine glasses to her share), how happy, merry, and 
confidential the whole party had become. Crump told his story of 
the “Bootjack,” and whose boot it had drawn; the former Miss 
Delaney expatiated on her past theatrical life, and the pictures 
hanging round the room. Miss was equally communicative; and, 
in short, the Captain had all the secrets of the little family in his 
possession ere sunset. He knew that Miss cared little for either of 
her suitors, about whom mamma and papa had a little quarrel. 
He heard Mrs. Crump talk of Morgiana’s property, and fell more in 
love with her than ever. Then came tea, the luscious crumpet, the 
quiet game at cribbage, and the song — the song which poor Eglantine 
heard, and which caused Woolsey’s rage and his despair. 

At the close of the evening the tailor was in a greater rage, and 
the perfumer in greater despair than ever. He had made his little 
present of eau-de-cologne. “ Oh fie ! ” says the Captain, with a 


MEN’S WIVES 


398 

horse-laugh, “ it smells of the shop ! ” He taunted the tailor about 
his wig, and the honest fellow had only an oath to give by way of 
repartee. He told his stories about his club and his lordly friends. 
What chance had either against the all - accomplished Howard 
Walker? 

Old Crump, with a good innate sense of right and wrong, hated 
the man ; Mrs. Crump did not feel quite at her ease regarding him ; 
but Morgiana thought him the most delightful person the world 
ever produced. 

Eglantine’s usual morning costume was a blue satin neckcloth 
embroidered with butterflies and ornamented with a brandy-ball 
brooch, a light shawl waistcoat, and a rhubarb-coloured coat of the 
sort which, I believe, are called Taglionis, and which have no waist- 
buttons, and made a pretence, as it were, to have no waists, but are 
in reality adopted by the fat in order to give them a waist. Nothing 
easier for an obese man than to have a waist ; he has but to pinch 
his middle part a little, and the very fat on either side pushed 
violently forward makes a waist, as it were, and our worthy 
perfumer’s figure was that of a bolster cut almost in two with a 
string. 

Walker presently saw him at his shop-door grinning in this 
costume, twiddling his ringlets with his dumpy greasy fingers, 
glittering with oil and rings, and looking so exceedingly contented 
and happy that the estate-agent felt assured some very satisfactory 
conspiracy had been planned between the tailor and him. How 
was Mr. Walker to learn what the scheme was ? Alas ! the poor 
fellow’s vanity and delight were such, that he could not keep silent 
as to the cause of his satisfaction ; and rather than not mention it 
at all, in the fulness of his heart he would have told his secret to 
Mr. Mossrose himself. 

“When I get my coat,” thought the Bond Street Alnaschar, 
“ I’ll hire of Snaffle that easy-going cream-coloured ’oss that he 
bought from Astley’s, and I’ll canter through the Park, and won't I 
pass through Little Bunker’s Buildings, that’s all? I’ll wear my 
grey trousers with the velvet stripe down the side, and get my 
spurs lacquered up, and a French polish to my boot ; and if I don’t 
do for the Captain, and the tailor too, my name’s not Archibald. 
And I know what I’ll do : I’ll hire the small clarence, and invite 
the Crumps to dinner at the ‘Gar and Starter’” (this was his 
facetious way of calling the “Star and Carter”), “and I’ll ride by 
them all the way to Kichmond. It’s rather a long ride, but with 
Snaffle’s soft saddle I can do it pretty easy, I dare say.” And so 
the honest fellow built castles upon castles in the air ; and the last 
most beautiful vision of all was Miss Crump “in white satting, 



NOT ALTOGETHER UNEXPECTED. 



THE RAVENSWING 39 9 

with a horange-flower in her ’air,” putting him in possession of 
“ her lovely ’and before the haltar of St. George’s, ’Anover Square.” 
As for Woolsey, Eglantine determined that he should have the 
best wig his art could produce ; for he had not the least fear of 
his rival. 

These points then being arranged to the poor fellow’s satis- 
faction, what does he do but send out for half a quire of pink note- 
paper, and in a filigree envelope despatch a note of invitation to 
the ladies at the “ Bootjack ” : — 


“Bower op Bloom, Bond Street, 
Thursday. 

“ Mr. Archibald Eglantine presents his compliments to Mrs. 
and Miss Crump, and requests the honour and 'pleasure of their 
company at the ‘ Star and Garter ’ at Richmond to an early dinner 
on Sunday next. 

“ If agreeable , Mr. Eglantine’s carriage will be at your door at 
three o’clock, and I propose to accompany them on horseback, if 
agreeable likewise.” 

This note was sealed with yellow wax, and sent to its destina- 
tion ; and of course Mr. Eglantine went himself for the answer in 
the evening : and of course he told the ladies to look out for a 
certain new coat he was going to sport on Sunday ; and of course 
Mr. Walker happens to call the next day with spare tickets for 
Mrs. Crump and her daughter, when the whole secret was laid bare 
to him — how the ladies were going to Richmond on Sunday in Mr. 
Snaffle’s clarence, and how Mr. Eglantine was to ride by their side. 

Mr. Walker did not keep horses of his own; his magnificent 
friends at the “Regent” had plenty in their stables, and some of 
these were at livery at the establishment of the Captain’s old 
“ college ” companion, Mr. Snaffle. It was easy, therefore, for the 
Captain to renew his acquaintance with that individual. So, hang- 
ing on the arm of my Lord Vauxhall, Captain Walker next day 
made his appearance at Snaffle’s livery-stables, and looked at the 
various horses there for sale or at bait, and soon managed, by 
putting some facetious questions to Mr. Snaffle regarding the 
“ Kidney Club,” &c., to place himself on a friendly footing with 
that gentleman, and to learn from him what horse Mr. Eglantine 
was to ride on Sunday. 

The monster Walker had fully determined in his mind that 
Eglantine should fall off that horse in the course of his Sunday’s 
ride. 

“That sing’lar hanimal,” said Mr. Snaffle, pointing to the 


400 


MEN’S WIVES 


old horse, “is the celebrated Heraperor that was the wonder of 
Hastley’s some years back, and was parted with by Mr. Ducrow 
honly because his feelin’s wouldn’t allow him to keep him no 
longer after the death of the first Mrs. D., who invariably rode 
him. I bought him, thinking that p’raps ladies and Cockney 
bucks might like to ride him (for his haction is wonderful, and 
he canters like a harm-chair) ; but he’s not safe on any day except 
Sundays.” 

“ And why’s that ? ” asked Captain Walker. “ Why is he safer 
on Sundays than other days'?” 

“ Because there's no music in the streets on Sundays. The first 
gent that rode him found himself dancing a quadrille in Hupper 
Brook Street to an ’urdy-gurdy that was playing ‘ Cherry Ripe,’ 
such is the natur of the hanimal. And if you reklect the play of 
the ‘ Battle of Hoysterlitz,’ in which Mrs. D. hacted ‘ the female 
hussar,’ you may remember how she and the horse died in the third 
act to the toon of ‘God preserve the Emperor,’ from which this 
horse took his name. Only play that toon to him, and he rears 
hisself up, beats the hair in time with his forelegs, and then sinks 
gently to the ground as though he were carried off by a cannon-ball. 
He served a lady hopposite Hapsley ’Ouse so one day, and since 
then I’ve never let him out to a friend except on Sunday, when, 
in course, there’s no danger. Heglantine is a friend of mine, and 
of course I wouldn’t put the poor fellow on a hanimal I couldn’t 
trust.” 

After a little more conversation, my lord and his friend quitted 
Mr. Snaffle’s, and as they walked away towards the “ Regent,” 
his Lordship might be heard shrieking with laughter, crying, 
“ Capital, by jingo ! exthlent ! Dwive down in the dwag ! Take 
Lungly. Worth a thousand pound, by Jove ! ” and similar ejacula- 
tions, indicative of exceeding delight. 

On Saturday morning, at ten o’clock to a moment, Mr. Woolsey 
called at Mr. Eglantine’s with a yellow handkerchief under his arm. 
It contained the best and handsomest body-coat that ever gentleman 
put on. It fitted Eglantine to a nicety — it did not pinch him in 
the least, and yet it was of so exquisite a cut that the perfumer 
found, as he gazed delighted in the glass, that he looked like a 
manly portly high-bred gentleman — a lieutenant-colonel in the army, 
at the very least. 

“You’re a full man, Eglantine,” said the tailor, delighted, too, 
with his own work ; “ but that can’t be helped. You look more 
like Hercules than Falstaff now, sir; and if a coat can make a 
gentleman, a gentleman you are. Let me recommend you to sink 
the blue cravat, and take the stripes off your trousers. Dress quiet, 


THE RAVENSWING 


401 


sir ; draw it mild. Plain waistcoat, dark trousers, black neckcloth, 
black hat, and if there’s a better-dressed man in Europe to-morrow, 
I’m a Dutchman.” 

“ Thank you, Woolsey — thank you, my dear sir,” said the 
charmed perfumer. “And now I’ll just trouble you to try on 
this here.” 

The wig had been made with equal skill; it was not in the 
florid style which Mr. Eglantine loved in his own person, but, 
as the perfumer said, a simple straightforward head of hair. 
“ It seems as if it had grown there all your life, Mr. Woolsey ; 
nobody would tell that it was not your nat’ral colour” (Mr. Woolsey 
blushed) — “it makes you look ten year younger; and as for that 
scarecrow yonder, you’ll never, I think, want to wear that again.” 

Woolsey looked in the glass, and was delighted too. The two 
rivals shook hands and straightway became friends, and in the 
overflowing of his heart the perfumer mentioned to the tailor the 
party which he had arranged for the next day, and offered him a 
seat in the carriage and at the dinner at the “ Star and Garter.” 
“ Would you like to ride ? ” said Eglantine, with rather a conse- 
quential air. “ Snaffle will mount you, and we can go one on each 
side of the ladies, if you like.” 

But Woolsey humbly said he was not a riding man, and gladly 
consented to take a place in the clarence carriage, provided he was 
allowed to bear half the expenses of the entertainment. This pro- 
posal was agreed to by Mr. Eglantine, and the two gentlemen parted 
to meet once more at the “ Kidneys ” that night, when everybody 
was edified by the friendly tone adopted between them. 

Mr. Snaffle, at the club meeting, made the very same proposal 
to Mr. Woolsey that the perfumer had made ; and stated that as 
Eglantine was going to ride Hemperor, Woolsey, at least, ought to 
mount too. But he was met by the same modest refusal on the 
tailor’s part, who stated that he had never mounted a horse yet, 
and preferred greatly the use of a coach. 

Eglantine’s character as a “swell” rose greatly with the club 
that evening. 

Two o’clock on Sunday came : the two beaux arrived punctually 
at the door to receive the two smiling ladies. 

“ Bless us, Mr. Eglantine ! ” said Miss Crump, quite struck by 
him, “ I never saw you look so handsome in your life.” He could 
have flung his arms around her neck at the compliment. “And 
law, ma! what has happened to Mr. Woolsey 1 doesn’t he look ten 
years younger than yesterday?” Mamma assented, and Woolsey 
bowed gallantly, and the two gentlemen exchanged a nod of hearty 
friendship. 


402 


MEN’S WIVES 


The day was delightful. Eglantine pranced along magnificently 
on his cantering arm-chair, with his hat on one ear, his left hand on 
his side, and his head flung over his shoulder, and throwing under- 
glances at Morgiana whenever the “ Emperor ” was in advance of 
the clarence. The “ Emperor ” pricked up his ears a little uneasily 
passing the Ebenezer chapel in Richmond, where the congregation 
were singing a hymn, but beyond this no accident occurred; nor 
was Mr. Eglantine in the least stiff or fatigued by the time the 
party reached Richmond, where he arrived time enough to give his 
steed into the charge of an ostler, and to present his elbow to the 
ladies as they alighted from the clarence carriage. 

What this jovial party ate for dinner at the “ Star and Garter ” 
need not here be set down. If they did not drink champagne I 
am very much mistaken. They were as merry as any four people 
in Christendom; and between the bewildering attentions of the 
perfumer, and the manly courtesy of the tailor, Morgiana very 
likely forgot the gallant Captain, or, at least, was very happy in 
his absence. 

At eight o’clock they began to drive homewards. “ Won't you 
come into the carriage 1 ” said Morgiana to Eglantine, with one of 
her tenderest looks; “Dick can ride the horse.” But Archibald 
was too great a lover of equestrian exercise. “ I’m afraid to trust 
anybody on this horse,” said he with a knowing look ; and so he 
pranced away by the side of the little carriage. The moon was 
brilliant, and, with the aid of the gas-lamps, illuminated the whole 
face of the country in a way inexpressibly lovely. 

Presently, in the distance, the sweet and plaintive notes of a 
bugle were heard, and the performer, with great delicacy, executed 
a religious air. “ Music, too ! heavenly ! ” said Morgiana, throwing 
up her eyes to the stars. The music came nearer and nearer, and 
the delight of the company was only more intense. The fly was 
going at about four miles an hour, and the “Emperor” began 
cantering to time at the same rapid pace. 

“ This must be some gallantry of yours, Mr. Woolsey,” said the 
romantic Morgiana, turning upon that gentleman. “ Mr. Eglantine 
treated us to the dinner, and you have provided us with the 
music.” 

Now Woolsey had been a little, a very little, dissatisfied during 
the course of the evening’s entertainment, by fancying that Eglan- 
tine, a much more voluble person than himself, had obtained rather 
an undue share of the ladies’ favour; and as he himself paid half 
of the expenses, he felt very much vexed to think that the perfumer 
should take all the credit of the business to himself. So w r hen Miss 
Crump asked if he had provided the music, he foolishly made an 


403 


THE RAVENSWING 

evasive reply to her query, and rather wished her to imagine that 
he had performed that piece of gallantry. “ If it pleases you, Miss 
Morgiana,” said this artful Schneider, “ what more need any man 
ask 1 wouldn’t I have all Drury Lane orchestra to please you 1 ” 

The bugle had by this time arrived quite close to the clarence 
carriage, and if Morgiana had looked round she might have seen 
whence the music came. Behind her came slowly a drag, or private 
stage-coach, with four horses. Two grooms with cockades and 
folded arms were behind ; and, driving on the box, a little gentle- 
man, with a blue bird’s-eye neckcloth, and a white coat. A bugle- 
man was by his side, who performed the melodies which so delighted 
Miss Crump. He played very gently and sweetly, and “ God save 
the King ” trembled so softly out of the brazen orifice of his bugle, 
that the Crumps, the tailor, and Eglantine himself, who was riding 
close by the carriage, were quite charmed and subdued. 

“Thank you, dear Mr. Woolsey,” said the grateful Morgiana; 
which made Eglantine stare, and Woolsey was just saying, “ Really, 
upon my word, I’ve nothing to do with it,” when the man on the 
drag-box said to the bugleman, “ Now ! ” 

The bugleman began the tune of — 

“ Heaven preserve our Emperor Fra-an-cis, 
Rum-tum-ti-tum-ti-titty-ti. ” 

At the sound, the “Emperor” reared himself (with a roar from Mr. 
Eglantine) — reared and beat the air with his fore-paws. Eglantine 
flung his arms round the beast’s neck ; still he kept beating time 
with his fore-paws. Mrs. Crump screamed; Mr. Woolsey, Dick, 
the clarence coachman, Lord Vauxhall (for it was he), and his 
Lordship’s two grooms, burst into a shout of laughter ; Morgiana 
cries “ Mercy ! mercy ! ” Eglantine yells “ Stop ! ” — “ Wo ! ” — 
“ Oh ! ” and a thousand ejaculations of hideous terror ; until, at 
last, down drops the “ Emperor ” stone dead in the middle of the 
road, as if carried off by a cannon-ball. 

Fancy the situation, ye callous souls who laugh at the misery 
of humanity, fancy the situation of poor Eglantine under the 
“ Emperor ” ! He had fallen very easy, the animal lay perfectly 
quiet, and the perfumer was to all intents and purposes as dead 
as the animal. He had not fainted, but he was immovable with 
terror ; he lay in a puddle, and thought it was his own blood gush- 
ing from him ; and he would have lain there until Monday morning, 
if my Lord’s groom, descending, had not dragged him by the coat- 
collar from under the beast, who still lay quiet. 

“ Play ‘Charming Judy Callaghan,’ will ye 1 ?” says Mr, Snaffle’s 
man, the fly-driver ; on which the bugler performed that lively air, 


404 - 


MEN’S WIVES 


and up started the horse, and the grooms, who were rubbing Mr. 
Eglantine down against a lamp-post, invited him to remount. 

But his heart was too broken for that. The ladies gladly made 
room for him in the clarence. Dick mounted “ Emperor ” and rode 
homewards. The drag, too, drove away, playing “ Oh dear, what 
can the matter be ? ” and with a scowl of furious hate, Mr. Eglantine 
sat and regarded his rival. His pantaloons were split, and his coat 
torn up the back. 

“Are you hurt much, dear Mr. Archibald 1 ?” said Morgiana, 
with unaffected compassion. 

“N-not much,” said the poor fellow, ready to burst into tears. 

“ Oh, Mr. Woolsey,” added the good-natured girl, “ how could 
you play such a trick 1 ” 

“ Upon my word,” Woolsey began, intending to plead innocence ; 
but the ludicrousness of the situation was once more too much for 
him, and he burst out into a roar of laughter. 

“ You ! you cowardly beast ! ” howled out Eglantine, now driven 
to fury — “ you laugh at me, you miserable cretur ! Take that, 
sir ! ” and he fell upon him with all his might, and well-nigh throttled 
the tailor, and pummelling his eyes, his nose, his ears, with incon- 
ceivable rapidity, wrenched, finally, his wig off his head, and flung 
it into the road. 

Morgiana saw that Woolsey had red hair.* 


* A French proverbe furnished the author with the notion of the rivalry 
between the barber and the tailor. 


CHAPTER IV 


IN WHICH THE HEROINE HAS A NUMBER MORE LOVERS, AND 
CUTS A VERY DASHING FIGURE IN THE WORLD 

T WO years have elapsed since the festival at Richmond, which, 
begun so peaceably, ended in such general uproar. Morgiana 
never could be brought to pardon Woolsey’s red hair, nor to 
help laughing at Eglantine’s disasters, nor could the two gentlemen 
be reconciled to one another. Woolsey, indeed, sent a challenge to 
the perfumer to meet him with pistols, which the latter declined, 
saying, justly, that tradesmen had no business with such weapons ; 
on this the tailor proposed to meet him with coats off, and have it 
out like men, in the presence of their friends of the “ Kidney Club.” 
The perfumer said he would be party to no sucli vulgar transaction ; 
on which, Woolsey, exasperated, made an oath that he would tweak 
the perfumer’s nose so surely as he ever entered the club-room ; and 
thus one member of the “Kidneys” was compelled to vacate his 
arm-chair. 

Woolsey himself attended every meeting regularly, but he did 
not evince that gaiety and good-humour which render men’s company 
agreeable in clubs. On arriving, he would order the boy to “ tell 
him when that scoundrel Eglantine came ; ” and, hanging up his hat 
on a peg, would scowl round the room, and tuck up his sleeves very 
high, and stretch, and shake his fingers and wrists, as if getting them 
ready for that pull of the nose which he intended to bestow upon his 
rival. So prepared, he would sit down and smoke his pipe quite 
silently, glaring at all, and jumping up, and hitching up his coat- 
sleeves, when any one entered the room. 

The “ Kidneys ” did not like this behaviour. Clinker ceased 
to come. Bustard, the poulterer, ceased to come. As for Snaffle, 
he also disappeared, for Woolsey wished to make him. answerable 
for the misbehaviour of Eglantine, and proposed to him the duel 
which the latter had declined. So Snaffle went. Presently they 
all went, except the tailor and Tressle, who lived down the street, 
and these two would sit and puff their tobacco, one on each side of 
Crump, the landlord, as silent as Indian chiefs in a wigwam. There 
grew to be more and more room for poor old Crump in his chair and 


406 


MEN’S WIVES 


in his clothes ; the “ Kidneys ” were gone, and why should he remain ? 
One Saturday he did not come down to preside at the club (as he 
still fondly called it), and the Saturday following Tressle had made 
a coffin for him; and Woolsey, with the undertaker by his side, 
followed to the grave the father of the “ Kidneys.” 

Mrs. Crump was now alone in the world. “ How alone ? ” says 
some innocent and respected reader. Ah ! my dear sir, do you know 
so little of human nature as not to be aware that, one week after 
the Richmond affair, Morgiana married Captain Walker? That did 
she privately, of course ; and, after the ceremony, came tripping back 
to her parents, as young people do in plays, and said, “Forgive me, 
dear pa and ma, I’m married, and here is my husband the Captain ! ” 
Papa and mamma did forgive her, as why shouldn’t they ? and papa 
paid over her fortune to her, which she carried home delighted to the 
Captain. This happened several months before the demise of old 
Crump ; and Mrs. Captain Walker was on the Continent with her 
Howard when that melaucholy event took place ; hence Mrs. Crump’s 
loneliness and unprotected condition. Morgiana had not latterly seen 
much of the old people ; how could she, moving in her exalted sphere, 
receive at her genteel new residence in the Edgware Road the old 
publican and his wife ? 

Being, then, alone in the world, Mrs. Crump could not abear, 
she said, to live in the house where she had been so respected and 
happy : so she sold the goodwill of the “ Bootjack,” and, with the 
money arising from this sale and her own private fortune, being 
able to muster some sixty pounds per annum, retired to the neigh- 
bourhood of her dear old “Sadler’s Wells,” where she boarded with 
one of Mrs. Serle’s forty pupils. Her heart was broken, she said ; 
but, nevertheless, about nine months after Mr. Crump’s death, the 
wallflowers, nasturtiums, polyanthuses, and convolvuluses began to 
blossom under her bonnet as usual ; in a year she was dressed quite 
as fine as ever, and now never missed “ The Wells,” or some other 
place of entertainment, one single night, but was as regular as the 
box-keeper. Nay, she was a buxom widow still, and an old flame 
of hers, Fisk, so celebrated as Pantaloon in Grimaldi’s time, but 
now doing the “ heavy fathers ” at “ The Wells,” proposed to her 
to exchange her name for his. 

But this proposal the worthy widow declined altogether. To 
say truth, she was exceedingly proud of her daughter, Mrs. Captain 
Walker. They did not see each other much at first ; but every now 
and then Mrs. Crump would pay a visit to the folks in Connaught 
Square ; and on the days when “ the Captain’s ” lady called in the 
City Road, there was not a single official at “The Wells,” from the first 
tragedian down to the call-boy, who was not made aware of the fact. 


THE LAST DAYS OF THE KIDNEY CLUB. 






THE RAVENSWING 407 

It has been said that Morgiana carried home her fortune in her 
own reticule, and, smiling, placed the money in her husband’s lap ; 
and hence the reader may imagine, who knows Mr. Walker to be 
an extremely selfish fellow, that a great scene of anger must have 
taken place, and many coarse oaths and epithets of abuse must 
have come from him, when he found that five hundred pounds was 
all that his wife had, although he had expected five thousand with 
her. But, to say the truth, Walker was at this time almost in 
love with his handsome, rosy, good-humoured, simple wife. They 
had made a fortnight’s tour, during which they had been exceed- 
ingly happy; and there was something so frank and touching in 
the way in which the kind creature flung her all into his lap, 
saluting him with a hearty embrace at the same time, and wishing 
that it were a thousand billion billion times more, so that her 
darling Howard might enjoy it, that the man would have been a 
ruffian indeed could he have found it in his heart to be angry with 
her ; and so he kissed her in return, and patted her on the shining 
ringlets, and then counted over the notes with rather a disconsolate 
air, and ended by locking them up in his portfolio. In fact, she 
had never deceived him ; Eglantine had, and he in return had out- 
tricked Eglantine; and so warm were his affections for Morgiana 
at this time, that, upon my word and honour, I don’t think he 
repented of his bargain. Besides, five hundred pounds in crisp 
bank-notes was a sum of money such as the Captain was not in the 
habit of handling every day ; a dashing sanguine fellow, he fancied 
there was no end to it, and already thought of a dozen ways by 
which it should increase and multiply into a plum. Woe is me ! 
Has not many a simple soul examined five new hundred-pound 
notes in this way, and calculated their powers of duration and 
multiplication ? 

This subject, however, is too painful to be dwelt on. Let us 
hear what Walker did with his money. Why, he furnished the 
house in the Edgware Road before mentioned, he ordered a hand- 
some service of plate, he sported a phaeton and two ponies, he kept 
a couple of smart maids and a groom footboy — in fact, he mounted 
just such a neat unpretending gentlemanlike establishment as 
becomes a respectable young couple on their outset in life. “ I’ve 
sown my wild oats,” he would say to his acquaintances ; “a few 
years since, perhaps, I would have longed to cut a dash, but now 
prudence is the word ; and I’ve settled every farthing of Mrs. 
Walker’s fifteen thousand on herself.” And the best proof that 
the world had confidence in him is the fact, that for the articles 
of plate, equipage, and furniture, which have been mentioned as 
being in his possession, he did not pay one single shilling ; and so 


408 


MEN’S WIVES 


prudent was he, that but for turnpikes, postage-stamps, and king’s 
taxes, he hardly had occasion to change a five-pound note of his 
wife’s fortune. 

To tell the truth, Mr. Walker had determined to make his 
fortune. And what is easier in London? Is not the share- 
market open to all? Do not Spanish and Columbian bonds rise and 
fall ? For what are companies invented, but to place thousands in 
the pockets of shareholders and directors ? Into these commercial 
pursuits the gallant Captain now plunged with great energy, and 
made some brilliant hits at first starting, and bought and sold so 
opportunely, that his name began to rise in the City as a capitalist, 
and might be seen in the printed list of directors of many excellent 
and philanthropic schemes, of which there is never any lack in 
London. Business to the amount of thousands was done at his 
agency; shares of vast value were bought and sold under his 
management. How poor Mr. Eglantine used to hate him and envy 
him, as from the door of his emporium (the firm was Eglantine and 
Mossrose now) he saw the Captain daily arrive in his pony-phaeton, 
and heard of the start he had taken in life ! 

The only regret Mrs. Walker had was that she did not enjoy 
enough of her husband’s society. His business called him away all 
day; his business, too, obliged him to leave her of evenings very 
frequently alone; whilst he (always in pursuit of business) was 
dining with his great friends at the club, and drinking claret and 
champagne to the same end. 

She was a perfectly good-natured and simple soul, and never 
made him a single reproach ; but when he could pass an evening at 
home with her she was delighted, and when he could drive with her 
in the Park she was happy for a week after. On these occasions, 
and in the fulness of her heart, she would drive to her mother and 
tell her story. “Howard drove with me in the Park yesterday, 
mamma;” “Howard has promised to take me to the Opera,” and 
so forth. And that evening the manager, Mr. Gawler, the first 
tragedian, Mrs. Serle and her forty pupils, all the box-keepers, 
bonnet-women — nay, the ginger-beer girls themselves at “The 
Wells,” knew that Captain and Mrs. Walker were at Kensington 
Gardens, or were to have the Marchioness of Billingsgate’s box at 
the Opera. One night— 0 joy of joys !— Mrs. Captain Walker 
appeared in a private box at “ The Wells.” That’s she with the 
black ringlets and Cashmere shawl, smelling-bottle, and black velvet 
gown, and bird of paradise in her hat. Goodness gracious ! how 
they all acted at her, Gawler and all, and how happy Mrs. Crump 
was ! She kissed her daughter between all the acts, she nodded 
to all her friends on the stage, in the slips, or in the real water ; 


THE RAVENS WING 409 

she introduced her daughter, Mrs. Captain Walker, to the box- 
opener ; and Melvil Delamere (the first comic), Canterfield (the 
tyrant), and Jonesini (the celebrated Fontarabian Statuesque), 
were all on the steps, and shouted for Mrs. Captain Walker’s 
carriage, and waved their hats, and bowed as the little pony-phaeton 
drove away. Walker, in his moustaches, had come in at the end 
of the play, and was not a little gratified by the compliments paid 
to himself and lady. 

Among the other articles of luxury with which the Captain 
furnished his house we must not omit to mention an extremely 
grand piano, which occupied four-fifths of Mrs. Walker’s little back 
drawing-room, and at which she was in the habit of practising con- 
tinually. All day and all night during Walker’s absences (and 
these occurred all night and all day), you might hear — the whole 
street might hear — the voice of the lady at No. 23, gurgling, and 
shaking, and quavering, as ladies do when they practise. The 
street did not approve of the continuance of the noise ; but neigh- 
bours are difficult to please, and what would Morgiana have had to 
do if she had ceased to sing 1 It would be hard to lock a blackbird 
in a cage and prevent him from singing too. And so Walker’s black- 
bird, in the snug little cage in the Edgware Road, sang and was not 
unhappy. 

After the pair had been married for about a year, the omnibus 
that passes both by Mrs. Crump’s house near “The Wells,” and by 
Mrs. Walker’s street off the Edgware Road, brought up the former- 
named lady almost every day to her daughter. She came when 
the Captain had gone to his business ; she stayed to a two o’clock 
dinner with Morgiana ; she drove with her in the pony-carriage 
round the Park ; but she never stopped later than six. Had she 
not to go to the play at seven ? And, besides, the Captain might 
come home with some of his great friends, and he always swore and 
grumbled much if he found his mother-in-law on the premises. As 
for Morgiana, she was one of those women who encourage despotism 
in husbands. What the husband says must be right, because he 
says it; what he orders must be obeyed tremblingly. Mrs. Walker 
gave up her entire reason to her lord. Why was it? Before marriage 
she had been an independent little person ; she had far more brains 
than her Howard. I think it must have been his moustaches that 
frightened her, and caused in her this humility. 

Selfish husbands have this advantage in maintaining with easy- 
minded wives a rigid and inflexible behaviour, viz., that if they do by 
any chance grant a little favour, the ladies receive it with such 
transports of gratitude as they would never think of showing to a 
lord and master who was accustomed to give them everything they 


410 


MEN’S WIVES 


asked for ; and hence, when Captain Walker signified his assent to 
his wife’s prayer that she should take a singing-master, she thought 
his generosity almost divine, and fell upon her mamma’s neck, when 
that lady came the next day, and said what a dear adorable angel 
her Howard was, and what ought she not to do for a man who had 
taken her from her humble situation, and raised her to be what she 
was ! What she was, poor soul ! She was the wife of a swindling 
parvenu gentleman. She received visits from six ladies of her 
husband’s acquaintances — two attorneys’ ladies, his bill-broker’s 
lady, and one or two more, of whose characters we had best, if you 
please, say nothing ; and she thought it an honour to be so dis- 
tinguished : as if Walker had been a Lord Exeter to marry a 
humble maiden, or a noble prince to fall in love with a humble 
Cinderella, or a majestic Jove to come down from heaven and woo a 
Semele. Look through the world, respectable reader, and among your 
honourable acquaintances, and say if this sort of faith in women is 
not. very frequent ? They will believe in their husbands, whatever 
the latter do. Let John be dull, ugly, vulgar, and a humbug, his 
Mary Ann never finds it out ; let him tell his stories ever so many 
times, there is she always ready with her kind smile ; let him be 
stingy, she says he is prudent ; let him quarrel with his best friend, 
she says he is always in the right ; let him be prodigal, she says he 
is generous, and that his health requires enjoyment; let him be 
idle, he must have relaxation ; and she will pinch herself and her 
household that he may have a guinea for his club. Yes ; and every 
morning, as she wakes and looks at the face, snoring on the pillow 
by her side — every morning, I say, she blesses that dull ugly 
countenance, and the dull ugly soul reposing there, and thinks both 
are something divine. I want to know how it is that women do 
not find out their husbands to be humbugs? Nature has so pro- 
vided it, and thanks to her. When last year they were acting the 
“ Midsummer Night’s Dream,” and all the boxes began to roar with 
great coarse heehaws at Titania hugging Bottom’s long long ears — 
to me, considering these things, it seemed that there were a hundred 
other male brutes squatted round about, and treated just as reason- 
ably as Bottom was. Their Titanias lulled them to sleep in their 
laps, summoned a hundred smiling delicate household fairies to 
tickle their gross intellects and minister to their vulgar pleasures ; 
and (as the above remarks are only supposed to apply to honest 
women loving their own lawful spouses) a mercy it is that no 
wicked Puck is in the way to open their eyes, and point out their 
folly. Cui bono 1 let them live on in their deceit : I know two 
lovely ladies who will read this, and will say it is just very likely, 
and not see in the least that it has been written regarding them. 


THE RAVENSWING 411 

Another point of sentiment, and one curious to speculate on. 
Have you not remarked the immense works of art that women get 
through ? The worsted-work sofas, the counterpanes patched or 
knitted (but these are among the old-fashioned in the country), the 
bushels of pincushions, the albums they laboriously fill, the tre- 
mendous pieces of music they practise, the thousand other fiddle- 
faddles which occupy the attention of the dear souls — nay, have we 
not seen them seated of evenings in a squad or company, Louisa 
employed at the worsted-work before mentioned, Eliza at the pin- 
cushions, Amelia at card-racks or .filigree matches, and, in the 
midst, Theodosia with one of the candles, reading out a novel aloud h 
Ah ! my dear sir, mortal creatures must be very hard put to it for 
amusement, be sure of that, when they are forced to gather together 
in a company and hear novels read aloud ! They only do it because 
they can’t help it, depend upon it : it is a sad life, a poor pastime. 
Mr. Dickens, in his American book, tells of the prisoners at the 
silent prison, how they had ornamented their rooms, some of them 
with a frightful prettiness and elaboration. Women’s fancy-work is 
of this sort often — only prison work, done because there was no 
other exercising-ground for their poor little thoughts and fingers ; 
and hence these wonderful pincushions are executed, these counter- 
panes woven, these sonatas learned. By everything sentimental, 
when I see two kind innocent fresh-cheeked young women go to a 
piano, and sit down opposite to it upon two chairs piled with more 
or less music-books (according to their convenience), and, so seated, 
go through a set of double-barrelled variations upon this or that 
tune by Herz or Kalkbrenner — I say, far from receiving any satis- 
faction at the noise made by the performance, my too susceptible 
heart is given up entirely to bleeding for the performers. What 
hours and weeks, nay, preparatory years of study, has that infernal 
jig cost them ! What sums has papa paid, what scoldings has 
mamma administered (“Lady Bullblock does not play herself;” 
Sir Thomas says, “but she has naturally the finest ear for music 
ever known ” !) ; what evidences of slavery, in a word, are there ! 
It is the condition of the young lady’s existence. She breakfasts at 
eight, she does “ Mangnall’s Questions ” with the governess till ten, 
she practises till one, she walks in the square with bars round her 
till two, then she practises again, then she sews or hems or reads 
French, or Hume’s “History,” then she comes down to play to 
papa, because he likes music whilst he is asleep after dinner, and 
then it Is bedtime, and the morrow is another day with what are 
called the same “duties” to be gone through. A friend of mine 
went to call at a nobleman’s house the other day, and one of the 
young ladies of the house came into the room with a tray on her 


412 


MEN’S WIVES 


head ; this tray was to give Lady Maria a graceful carriage. Mon 
Dieul and who knows hut at that moment Lady Bell was at 
work with a pair of her dumb namesakes, and Lady Sophy lying 
flat on a stretching-board? I could write whole articles on this 
theme : but peace ! we are keeping Mrs. Walker waiting all the 
while. 

Well, then, if the above disquisitions have anything to do with 
the story, as no doubt they have, I wish it to be understood that, 
during her husband’s absence, and her own solitary confinement, 
Mrs. Howard Walker bestowed a prodigious quantity of her time 
and energy on the cultivation of her musical talent ; and having, 
as before stated, a very fine loud voice, speedily attained no ordinary 
skill in the use of it. She first had for teacher little Podmore, the 
fat chorus-master at “ The Wells,” and who had taught her mother 
the “ Tink-a-tink ” song which has been such a favourite since it 
first appeared. He grounded her well, and bade her eschew the 
singing of all those “Eagle Tavern” ballads in which her heart 
formerly delighted; and when he had brought her to a certain 
point of skill, the honest little chorus-master said she should have 
a still better instructor, and wrote a note to Captain Walker (en- 
closing his own little account), speaking in terms of the most 
flattering encomium of his lady’s progress, and recommending that 
she should take lessons of the celebrated Baroski. Captain Walker 
dismissed Podmore then, and engaged Signor Baroski, at a vast 
expense; as he did not fail to tell his wife. In fact, he owed 
Baroski no less than two hundred and twenty guineas when he 
was But we are advancing matters. 

Little Baroski is the author of the opera of “ Eliogabalo,” of 
the oratorio of “ Purgatorio,” which made such an immense sensa- 
tion, of songs and ballet-musics innumerable. He is a German by 
birth, and shows such an outrageous partiality for pork and sausages, 
and attends at church so constantly, that I am sure there cannot be 
any foundation in the story that he is a member of the ancient 
religion. He is a fat little man, with a hooked nose and jetty 
whiskers, and coal-black shining eyes, and plenty of rings and jewels 
on his fingers and about his person, and a very considerable portion 
of his shirt-sleeves turned over his coat to take the air. His great 
hands (which can sprawl over half a piano, and produce those effects 
on the instrument for which he is celebrated) are encased in lemon- 
coloured kids, new, or cleaned daily. Parenthetically, let us ask 
why so many men, with coarse red wrists and big hands, persist in 
the white kid glove and wristband system ? Baroski’s gloves alone 
must cost him a little fortune ; only he says with a leer, when asked 
the question, “ Get along vid you; don’t you know dere is a gloveress 


THE RAVENSWING 


413 


that lets me have dem very sheap 1 ” He rides in the Park ; has 
splendid lodgings in Dover Street ; and is a member of the “ Regent 
Club,” where he is a great source of amusement to the members, to 
whom he tells astonishing stories of his successes with the ladies, 
and for whom he has always play and opera tickets in store. His 
eye glistens and his little heart beats when a lord speaks to him ; 
and he has been known to spend large sums of money in giving 
treats to young sprigs of fashion at Richmond and elsewhere. “ In 
my bolyticks,” he says, “ I am consarevatiff to de bagbone.” In 
fine, he is a puppy, and withal a man of considerable genius in his 
profession. 

This gentleman, then, undertook to complete the musical educa- 
tion of Mrs. Walker. He expressed himself at once “ enshanted 
vid her gababilities,” found that the extent of her voice was 
“ brodigious,” and guaranteed that she should become a first-rate 
singer. The pupil was apt, the master was exceedingly skilful; 
and, accordingly, Mrs. Walker’s progress was very remarkable : 
although, for her part, honest Mrs. Crump, who used to attend her 
daughter’s lessons, would grumble not a little at the new system, 
and the endless exercises which she, Morgiana, was made to go 
through. It was very different in her time, she said. Incledon 
knew no music, and who could sing so well now % Give her a good 
English ballad : it was a thousand times sweeter than your “ Figaros ” 
and “ Semiramides.” 

In spite of these objections, however, and with amazing perse- 
verance and cheerfulness, Mrs. Walker pursued the method of study 
pointed out to her by her master. As soon as her husband went to 
the City in the morning her operations began ; if he remained away 
at dinner, her labours still continued : nor is it necessary for me to 
particularise her course of study, nor, indeed, possible ; for, between 
ourselves, nope of the male Fitz-Boodles ever could sing a note, and 
the jargon of scales and solfeggios is quite unknown to me. But 
as no man can have seen persons addicted to music without re- 
marking the prodigious energies they display in the pursuit, as 
there i3 no father of daughters, however ignorant, but is aware of 
the piano-rattling and voice-exercising which go on in his house 
from morning till night, so let all fancy, without further inquiry, 
how the heroine of our story was at this stage of her existence 
occupied. 

Walker was delighted with her progress, and did everything but 
pay Baroski, her instructor. We know why he didn’t pay. It was 
his nature not to pay bills, except on extreme compulsion; but 
why did not Baroski employ that extreme compulsion? Because, 
if he had received his money, he would have lost his pupil, and 


414 


MEN’S WIVES 


because lie loved his pupil more than money. Rather than lose 
her, he would have given her a guinea as well as her cachet. He 
would sometimes disappoint a great personage, but he never missed 
his attendance on her ; and the truth must out, that he was in love 
with her, as Woolsey and Eglantine had been before. 

“ By the immortel Chofe ! ” he would say, “ dat letell ding sents 
me mad vid her big ice ! But only vait avile : in six veeks I can 
bring any voman in England on her knees to me ; and you shall see 
vat I vill do vid my Morgiana.” He attended her for six weeks 
punctually, and yet Morgiana was never brought down on her knees ; 
he exhausted his best stock of “ gomblimends,” and she never seemed 
disposed to receive them with anything but laughter. And, as a 
matter of course, he only grew more infatuated with the lovely 
creature who was so provokingly good-humoured and so laughingly 
cruel. 

Benjamin Baroski was one of the chief ornaments of the musical 
profession in London ; he charged a guinea for a lesson of three 
quarters of an hour abroad, and he had, furthermore, a school at 
his own residence, where pupils assembled in considerable numbers, 
and of that curious mixed kind which those may see who frequent 
these places of instruction. There were very innocent young ladies 
with their mammas, who would hurry them off trembling to the 
farther corner of the room when certain doubtful professional 
characters made their appearance. There was Miss Grigg, who 
sang at the “ Foundling,” and Mr. Johnson, who sang at the “Eagle 
Tavern,” and Madame Fioravanti (a very doubtful character), who 
sang nowhere, but was always coming out at the Italian Opera. There 
was Lumley Limpiter (Lord Tweedledale’s son), one of the most 
accomplished tenors in town, and who, we have heard, sings with 
the professionals at a hundred concerts ; and with him, too, was 
Captain Guzzard, of the Guards, with his tremendous bass voice, 
which all the world declared to be as fine as Porto’s, and who shared 
the applause of Baroski’s school with Mr. Bulger, the dentist of 
Sackville Street, who neglected his ivory and gold plates for his 
voice, as every unfortunate individual will do who is bitten by the 
music mania. Then among the ladies there were a half-score of 
dubious pale governesses and professionals with turned frocks and 
lank damp bandeaux of hair under shabby little bonnets ; luckless 
creatures these, who were parting with their poor little store of half- 
guineas to be enabled to say they were pupils of Signor Baroski, 
and so get pupils of their own among the British youths, or employ- 
ment in the choruses of the theatres. 

The prima donna of the little company was Amelia Larkins, 
Baroski’s own articled pupil, on whose future reputation the eminent 


THE RAVENSWING 


415 


master staked his own, whose profits he was to share, and whom he 
had farmed, to this end, from her father, a most respectable sheriff’s 
officer’s assistant, and now, by his daughter’s exertions, a considerable 
capitalist. Amelia is blonde and blue-eyed, her complexion is as 

bright as snow, her ringlets of the colour of straw, her figure • 

but why describe her figure 1 Has not all the world seen her at the 
Theatres Royal and in America under the name of Miss Ligonier 1 

Until Mrs. Walker arrived, Miss Larkins was the undisputed 
princess of the Baroski company — the Semiramide, the Rosina, the 
Tamina, the Donna Anna. Baroski vaunted her everywhere as the 
great rising genius of the day, bade Catalani look to her laurels, 
and questioned whether Miss Stephens could sing a ballad like his 
pupil. Mrs. Howard Walker arrived, and created, on the first 
occasion, no small sensation. She improved, and the little society 
became speedily divided into Walkerites and Larkinsians; and be- 
tween these two ladies (as indeed between Guzzard and Bulger 
before mentioned, between Miss Brunck and Miss Horseman, the 
two contraltos, and between the chorus-singers, after their kind) a 
great rivalry arose. Larkins was certainly the better singer ; but 
could her straw-coloured curls and dumpy high-shouldered figure 
bear any comparison with the jetty ringlets and stately form of 
Morgiana? Did not Mrs. Walker, too, come to the music-lesson 
in her carriage, and with a black velvet gown and Cashmere shawl, 
while poor Larkins meekly stepped from Bell Yard, Temple Bar, in 
an old print gown and clogs, which she left in the hall 1 “ Larkins 

sing ! ” said Mrs. Crump sarcastically ; “ I’m sure she ought ; her 
mouth’s big enough to sing a duet.” Poor Larkins had no one to 
make epigrams in her behoof ; her mother was at home tending the 
younger ones, her father abroad following the duties of his profession ; 
she had but one protector, as she thought, and that one was Baroski. 
Mrs. Crump did not fail to tell Lumley Limpiter of her own former 
triumphs, and to sing him “ Tink-a-tink,” w T hich we have previously 
heard, and to state how in former days she had been called the 
Ravenswing. And Lumley, on this hint, made a poem, in which 
he compared Morgiana’s hair to the plumage of the Raven’s wing, 
and Larkinissa’s to that of the canary ; by which two names the 
ladies began soon to be known in the school. 

Ere long the flight of the Ravenswing became evidently stronger, 
whereas that of the canary was seen evidently to droop. When 
Morgiana sang, all the room would cry “ Bravo ! ” when Amelia 
performed, scarce a hand was raised for applause of her, except 
Morgiana’s own, and that the’Larkinses thought was lifted in odious 
triumph, rather than in sympathy, for Miss L. was of an envious 
urn, and little understood the generosity of her rival. 


416 


MEN’S WIVES 


At last, one day, the crowning victory of the Ravenswing came. 
In the trio of Baroski’s own opera of “ Eliogabalo,” “ Rosy lips and 
rosy wine,” Miss Larkins, who was evidently unwell, was taking the 
part of the English captive, which she had sung in public concerts 
before royal dukes, and with considerable applause, and, from some 
reason, performed it so ill, that Baroski, slapping down the music 
on the piano in a fury, cried, “Mrs. Howard Walker, as Miss 
Larkins cannot sing to-day, will you favour us by taking the part 
of Boadicetta ? ” Mrs. Walker got up smilingly to obey — the 
triumph was too great to be withstood; and, as she advanced to 
the piano, Miss Larkins looked wildly at her, and stood silent for a 
while, and, at last, shrieked out, “ Benjamin I ” in a tone of ex- 
treme agony, and dropped fainting down on the ground. Benjamin 
looked extremely red, it must be confessed, at being thus called by 
what we shall denominate his Christian name, and Limpiter looked 
round at Guzzard, and Miss Brunck nudged Miss Horseman, and 
the lesson concluded rather abruptly that day; for Miss Larkins 
was carried off to the next room, laid on a couch, and sprinkled 
with water. 

Good-natured Morgiana insisted that her mother should take 
Miss Larkins to Bell Yard in her carriage, and went herself home on 
foot ; but I don’t know that this piece of kindness prevented Larkins 
from hating her. I should doubt if it did. 

Hearing so much of his wife’s skill as a singer, the astute Captain 
Walker determined to take advantage of it for the purpose of increas- 
ing his “ connection.” He had Lumley Limpiter at his house before 
long, which was, indeed, no great matter, for honest Lum would go 
anywhere for a good dinner, and an opportunity to show off his voice 
afterwards, and Lumley was begged to bring any more clerks in the 
Treasury of his acquaintance ; Captain Guzzard was invited, and 
any officers of the Guards whom he might choose to bring ; Bulger 
received occasional cards : — in a word, and after a short time, Mrs. 
Howard Walker’s musical parties began to be considerably suivies. 
Her husband had the satisfaction to see his rooms filled by many 
great personages ; and once or twice in return (indeed, whenever she 
was wanted, or when people could not afford to hire the first singers) 
she was asked to parties elsewhere, and treated with that killing 
civility which our English aristocracy knows how to bestow on artists. 
Clever and wise aristocracy ! It is sweet to mark your ways, and 
study your commerce with inferior men. 

I was just going to commence a tirade regarding the aristocracy 
here, and to rage against that cool assumption of superiority which 
distinguishes their lordships’ commerce with artists of all sorts : that 
politeness which, if it condescends to receive artists at all, takes care 


THE RAVENSWING 417 

to have them altogether, so that there can be no mistake about their 
rank — that august patronage of art which rewards it with a silly 
flourish of knighthood, to be sure, but takes care to exclude it from 
any contact with its betters in society — I was, I say, just going to 
commence a tirade against the aristocracy for excluding artists from 
their company, and to be extremely satirical upon them, for instance, 
for not receiving my friend Morgiana, when it suddenly came into my 
head to ask, Was Mrs. Walker fit to move in the best society? — to 
which query it must humbly be replied that she was not. Her 
education was not such as to make her quite the equal of Baker 
Street. She was a kind, honest, and clever creature ; but, it must 
be confessed, not refined. Wherever she went she had, if not the 
finest, at any rate the most showy gown in the room ; her ornaments 
were the biggest ; her hats, toques, berets, marabouts, and other 
fallals, always the most conspicuous. She drops “h’s” here and 
there. I have seen her eat peas with a knife (and Walker, scowling 
on the opposite side of the table, striving in vain to catch her eye) ; 
and I shall never forget Lady Smigsmag’s horror when she asked for 
porter at dinner at Richmond, and began to drink it out of the 
pewter pot. It was a fine sight. She lifted up the tankard with 
one of the finest arms, covered with the biggest bracelets ever seen ; 
and had a bird of paradise on her head, that curled round the pewter 
disc of the pot as she raised it, like a halo. These peculiarities she 
had, and has still. She is best away from the genteel world, that 
is the fact. When she says that “ The weather is so ’ot that it is 
quite debiliating ; ” when she laughs, when she hits her neighbour at 
dinner on the side of the waistcoat (as she will if he should say any- 
thing that amuses her), she does what is perfectly natural and un- 
affected on her part, but what is not customarily done among polite 
persons, who can sneer at her odd manners and her vanity, but don’t 
know the kindness, honesty, and simplicity which distinguish her. 
This point being admitted, it follows, of course, that the tirade against 
the aristocracy would, in the present instance, be out of place — so it 
shall be reserved for some other occasion. 

The Ravenswing was a person admirably disposed by nature to 
be happy. She had a disposition so kindly that any small attention 
would satisfy it ; was pleased when alone ; was delighted in a 
crowd ; was charmed with a joke, however old ; was always ready 
to laugh, to sing, to dance, or to be merry ; was so tender-hearted 
that the smallest ballad would make her cry : and hence was sup- 
posed, by many persons, to be extremely affected, and by almost 
all to be a downright coquette. Several competitors for her favour 
presented themselves besides Baroski. Young dandies used to 
canter round her phaeton in the park, and might be seen haunting 

4 2 d 


418 


MEN’S WIVES 


her doors in the mornings. The fashionable artist of the day made 
a drawing of her, which was engraved and sold in the shops; a 
copy of it was printed in a song, “ Black-eyed Maiden of Araby,” 
the words by Desmond Mulligan, Esquire, the music composed and 
dedicated to Mrs. Howard Walker, by her most faithful and 
obliged servant, Benjamin Baroski ; and at night her opera-box was 
full. Her opera-box ? Yes, the heiress of the “ Bootjack ” actually 
had an opera-box, and some of the most fashionable manhood of 
London attended it. 

Now, in fact, was the time of her greatest prosperity ; and her 
husband gathering these fashionable characters about him, extended 
his “agency” considerably, and began to thank his stars that he 
had married a woman who was as good as a fortune to him. 

In extending his agency, however, Mr. Walker increased his 
expenses proportionably, and multiplied his debts accordingly. 
More furniture and more plate, more wines and more dinner-parties, 
became necessary; the little pony-phaeton was exchanged for a 
brougham of evenings; and we may fancy our old friend Mr. 
Eglantine’s rage and disgust, as he looked up from the pit of the 
Opera, to see Mrs. Walker surrounded by what he called “the 
swell young nobs ” about London, bowing to my Lord, and laughing 
with his Grace, and led to her carriage by Sir John. 

The Ravenswing’s position at this period was rather an excep- 
tional one. She was an honest woman, visited by that peculiar 
class of our aristocracy who chiefly associate with ladies who are 
not honest. She laughed with all, but she encouraged none. Old 
Crump was constantly at her side now when she appeared in public, 
the most watchful of mammas, always awake at the Opera, though 
she seemed to be always asleep ; but no dandy debauchee could 
deceive her vigilance, and for this reason Walker, who disliked her 
(as every man naturally will, must, and should dislike his mother- 
in-law), was contented to suffer her in his house to act as a chaperon 
to Morgiana. 

None of the young dandies ever got admission of mornings to 
the little mansion in the Edgware Road ; the blinds were always 
down ; and though you might hear Morgiana’s voice half across the 
Park as she was practising, yet the youthful hall-porter in the 
sugar-loaf buttons was instructed to deny her, and always declared 
that his mistress was gone out, with the most admirable assurance. 

After some two years of her life of splendour, there were, to be 
sure, a good number of morning visitors, who came with single 
knocks, and asked for Captain Walker; but these were no more 
admitted than the dandies aforesaid, and were referred, generally, 
to the Captain’s office, whither they went or not at their convenience. 


THE RAVENSWING 


419 

The only man who obtained admission into the house was Baroski, 
whose cab transported him thrice a week to the neighbourhood 
of Connaught Square, and who obtained ready entrance in his pro- 
fessional capacity. 

But even then, and much to the wicked little music-master’s 
disappointment, the dragon Crump was always at the piano with 
her endless worsted work, or else reading her unfailing Sunday 
Times ; and Baroski could only employ “ de langvitch of de ice,” as 
he called it, with his fair pupil, who used to mimic his manner of 
rolling his eyes about afterwards, and perform “Baroski in love” 
for the amusement of her husband and her mamma. The former 
had his reasons for overlooking the attentions of the little music- 
master ; and as for the latter, had she not been on the stage, and 
had not many hundreds of persons, in jest or earnest, made love to 
her % What else can a pretty woman expect who is much before 
the public 1 And so the worthy mother counselled her daughter to 
bear these attentions with good humour, rather than to make them 
a subject of perpetual alarm and quarrel. 

Baroski, then, was allowed to go on being in love, and was 
never in the least disturbed in his passion; and if he was not 
successful, at least the little wretch could have the pleasure of 
hinting that he was, and looking particularly roguish when the 
Ravenswing was named, and assuring his friends at the club, that 
“ upon his vort dere vas no trut in dat rebort.” 

At last one day it happened that Mrs. Crump did not arrive in 
time for her daughter’s lesson (perhaps it rained and the omnibus 
was full — a smaller circumstance than that has changed a whole 
life ere now) — Mrs. Crump did not arrive, and Baroski did, and 
Morgiana, seeing no great harm, sat down to her lesson as usual, 
and in the midst of it down went the music-master on his knees, 
and made a declaration in the most eloquent terms he could 
muster. 

“ Don’t be a fool, Baroski ! ” said the lady — (I can’t help it if 
her language was not more choice, and if she did not rise with cold 
dignity, exclaiming, “Unhand me, sir ! ”) — “Don’t be a fool ! ” said 
Mrs. Walker, “ but get up and let’s finish the lesson.” 

“You hard-hearted adorable little greature, vill you not listen 
to me ? ” 

“No, I vill not listen to you, Benjamin ! ” concluded the lady. 
“ Get up and take a chair, and don’t go on in that ridiklous way, 
don’t ! ” 

But Baroski, having a speech by heart, determined to deliver 
himself of it in that posture, and begged Morgiana not to turn 
avay her divine hice, and to listen to de voice of his despair, and so 


420 


MEN’S WIVES 

forth ; he seized the lady’s hand, and was going to press it to his 
lips, when she said, with more spirit, perhaps, than grace — 

“ Leave go my hand, sir ; I’ll box your ears if you don’t ! ” 

But Baroski wouldn’t release her hand, and was proceeding to 
imprint a kiss upon it; and Mrs. Crump, who had taken the 
omnibus at a quarter-past twelve instead of that at twelve, had 
just opened the drawing-room door and was walking in, when 
Morgiana, turning as red as a peony, and unable to disengage her 
left hand, which the musician held, raised up her right hand, and, 
with all her might and main, gave her lover such a tremendous 
slap in the face as caused him abruptly to release the hand which 
he held, and would have laid him prostrate on the carpet but for 
Mrs. Crump, who rushed forward and prevented him from falling by 
administering right and left a whole shower of slaps, such as he had 
never endured since the day he was at school. 

“ What imperence ! ” said that worthy lady ; “ you’ll lay hands 
on my daughter, will you ? (one, two). You’ll insult a woman in 
distress, will you, you little coward? (one, two). Take that, and 
mind your manners, you filthy monster ! ” 

Baroski bounced up in a fury. “ By Chofe, you shall hear of 
dis ! ” shouted he ; “ you shall pay me dis ! ” 

“ As many more as you please, little Benjamin,” cried the widow. 
“Augustus” (to the page), “was that the Captain’s knock?” At 
this Baroski made for his hat. “ Augustus, show this imperence to 
the door ; and if he tries to come in again, call a policeman : do 
you hear?” 

The music-master vanished very rapidly, and the two ladies, 
instead of being frightened or falling into hysterics, as their betters 
would have done, laughed at the odious monster’s discomfiture, as 
they called him. “ Such a man as that set himself up against my 
Howard ! ” said Morgiana, with becoming pride ; but it was agreed 
between them that Howard should know nothing of what had 
occurred, for fear of quarrels, or lest he should be annoyed. So 
when he came home not a word was said ; and only that his wife 
met him with more warmth than usual, you could not have guessed 
that anything extraordinary had occurred. It is not my fault that 
my heroine’s sensibilities were not more keen, that she had not the 
least occasion for sal-volatile or symptom of a fainting fit ; but so it 
was, and Mr. Howard Walker knew nothing of the quarrel between 

his wife and her instructor until 

Until he was arrested next day at the suit of Benjamin Baroski 
for two hundred and twenty guineas, and, in default of payment, 
was conducted by Mr. Tobias Larkins to his principal’s lock-up 
house in Chancery Lane. 


CHAPTER V 


IN WHICH MR. WALKER FALLS INTO DIFFICULTIES, AND MRS . 
WALKER MAKES MANY FOOLISH ATTEMPTS TO RESCUE HIM 

I HOPE the beloved reader is not silly enough to imagine that 
Mr. Walker, on finding himself inspunged for debt in Chancery 
Lane, was so foolish as to think of applying to any of his 
friends (those great personages who have appeared every now and 
then in the course of this little history, and have served to give it 
a fashionable air). No, no; he knew the world too well; and 
that, though Billingsgate would give him as many dozen of claret 
as he could carry away under his belt, as the phrase is (I can’t 
help it, madam, if the phrase is not more genteel), and though 
Vauxhall would lend him his carriage, slap him on the back, and 
dine at his house, — their lordships would have seen Mr. Walker 
depending from a beam in front of the Old Bailey rather than have 
helped him to a hundred pounds. 

And why, forsooth, should we expect otherwise in the world 1 
I observe that men who complain of its selfishness are quite as 
selfish as the world is, and no more liberal of money than their 
neighbours ; and I am quite sure with regard to Captain Walker 
that he would have treated a friend in want exactly as he when in 
want was treated. There was only his lady who was in the least 
afflicted by his captivity; and as for the club, that went on, we 
are bound to say, exactly as it did on the day previous to his 
disappearance. 

By the way, about clubs — could we not, but for fear of detaining 
the fair reader too long, enter into a wholesome dissertation here 
on the manner of friendship established in those institutions, and 
the noble feeling of selfishness which they are likely to encourage 
in the male race 1 ? I put out of the question the stale topics of 
complaint, such as leaving home, encouraging gormandising and 
luxurious habits, &c. ; but look also at the dealings of club-men 
with one another. Look at the rush for the evening paper ! See 
how Shiverton orders a fire in the dog-days, and Swettenham opens 
the windows in February. See how Cramley takes the whole 
breast of the turkey on his plate, and how many times Jenkins 


422 


MEN’S WIVES 


sends away his beggarly half-pint of sherry ! Clubbery is organised 
egotism. Club intimacy is carefully and wonderfully removed from 
friendship. You meet Smith for twenty years, exchange the day’s 
news with him, laugh with him over the last joke, grow as well 
acquainted as two men may be together — and one day, at the end 
of the list of members of the club, you* read in a little paragraph by 
itself, with all the honours, 

Member Deceased. 

Smith , John, Esq. ; 

or he, on the other hand, has the advantage of reading your own 
name selected for a similar typographical distinction. There it is, 
that abominable little exclusive list at the end of every club- 
catalogue — you can’t avoid it. I belong to eight clubs myself, 
and know that one year Fitz-Boodle, George Savage, Esq. (unless 
it should please fate to remove my brother and his six sons, when 
of course it would be Fitz-Boodle, Sir George Savage, Bart.), will 
appear in the dismal category. There is that list ; down I must 
go in it: — the day will come, and I shan’t be seen in the bow- 
window, some one else will be sitting in the vacant armchair : the 
rubber will begin as usual, and yet somehow Fitz will not be there. 
“ Where’s Fitz ? ” says Trumpington, just arrived from the Rhine. 
“ Don’t you know ? ” says Punter, turning down his thumb to the 
carpet. “You led the club, I think?” says Ruff to his partner 
(the other partner !), and the waiter snuffs the candles. 


I hope in the course of the above little pause, every single 
member of a club who reads this has profited by the perusal. He 
may belong, I say, to eight clubs ; he will die, and not be missed 
by any of the five thousand members. Peace be to him ; the 
waiters will forget him, and his name will pass away, and another 
greatcoat will hang on the hook whence his own used to be 
dependent. 

And this, I need not say, is the beauty of the club-institutions. 
If it were otherwise — if, forsooth, we were to be sorry when our 
friends died, or to draw out our purses when our friends were in 
want, we should be insolvent, and life would be miserable. Be it 
ours to button up our pockets and our hearts ; and to make merry 
— it is enough to swim down this life-stream for ourselves ; if 


423 


THE RAVEN SWING 

Poverty is clutching hold of our heels, or Friendship would catch an 
arm, kick them both off. Every man for himself, is the word, and 
plenty to do too. 

My friend Captain Walker had practised the above maxims so 
long and resolutely as to be quite aware when he came himself to 
be in distress, that not a single soul in the whole universe would 
help him, and he took his measures accordingly. 

When carried to Mr. Bendigo’s lock-up house, he summoned 
that gentleman in a very haughty way, took a blank banker’s 
cheque out of his pocket-book, and filling it up for the exact sum 
of the writ, orders Mr. Bendigo forthwith to open the door and let 
him go forth. 

Mr. Bendigo, smiling with exceeding archness, and putting a 
finger covered all over with diamond rings to his extremely aquiline 
nose, inquired of Mr. Walker whether he saw anything green about 
his face 1 intimating by this gay and good-humoured interrogatory 
his suspicion of the unsatisfactory nature of the document handed 
over to him by Mr. Walker. 

“ Hang it, sir ! ” says Mr. Walker, “ go and get the cheque 
cashed, and be quick about it. Send your man in a cab, and here’s 
a half-crown to pay for it.” The confident air somewhat staggers 
the bailiff, who asked him whether he would like any refreshment 
while his man was absent getting the amount of the cheque, and 
treated his prisoner with great civility during the time of the 
messenger’s journey 

But as Captain Walker had but a balance of two pounds five 
and twopence (this sum was afterwards divided among his creditors, 
the law expenses being previously deducted from it), the bankers of 
course declined to cash the Captain’s draft for two hundred and odd 
pounds, simply writing the words “ No effects” on the paper; on 
receiving which reply Walker, far from being cast down, burst out 
laughing very gaily, produced a real five-pound note, and called 
upon his host for a bottle of champagne, which the two worthies 
drank in perfect friendship and good-humour. The bottle was 
scarcely finished, and the young Israelitish gentleman who acts as 
waiter in Cursitor Street had only time to remove the flask and 
the glasses, when poor Morgiana with a flood of tears rushed into her 
husband’s arms, and flung herself on his neck, and calling him her 
“ dearest, blessed Howard,” would have fainted at his feet ; but 
that he, breaking out in a fury of oaths, asked her how, after getting 
him into that scrape through her infernal extravagance, she dared 
to show her face before him? This address speedily frightened 
the poor thing out of her fainting fit — there is nothing so good 
for female hysterics as a little conjugal sternness, nay, brutality. 


424 MEN’S WIVES 

as many husbands can aver who are in the habit of employing the 
remedy. 

“ My extravagance, Howard 1 ” said she, in a faint way ; and 
quite put off her purpose of swooning by the sudden attack made 
upon her — “ Surely, my love, you have nothing to complain 
of ” 

“To complain of, ma’am 1 ?” roared the excellent Walker. “Is 
two hundred guineas to a music-master nothing to complain of 1 ? 
Did you bring me such a fortune as to authorise your taking guinea 
lessons ? Haven’t I raised you out of your sphere of life and in- 
troduced you to the best of the land ? Haven’t I dressed you like 
a duchess 1 Haven’t I been for you such a husband as very few 
women in the world ever had, madam ? — answer me that.” 

“Indeed, Howard, you were always very kind,” sobbed the 
lady. 

“ Haven’t I toiled and slaved for you — been out all day working 
for you 1 ? Haven’t I allowed your vulgar old mother to come to 
your house — to my house, I say 1 Haven’t I done all this 1 ” 

She could not deny it, and Walker, who was in a rage (and 
when a man is in a rage, for what on earth is a wife made but 
that he should vent his rage on her ?), continued for some time in 
this strain, and so abused, frightened, and overcame poor Morgiana, 
that she left her husband fully convinced that she was the most 
guilty of beings, and bemoaning his double bad fortune, that her 
Howard was ruined and she the cause of his misfortunes. 

When she was gone, Mr. Walker resumed his equanimity (for he 
was not one of those men whom a few months of the King’s Bench 
were likely to terrify), and drank several glasses of punch in company 
with his host ; with whom in perfect calmness he talked over his 
affairs. That he intended to pay his debt and quit the spunging- 
house next day is a matter of course ; no one ever was yet put in 
a spunging-house that did not pledge his veracity he intended to 
quit it to-morrow. Mr. Bendigo said he should be heartily glad to 
open the door to him, and in the meantime sent out diligently to 
see among his friends if there were any more detainers against the 
Captain, and to inform the Captain’s creditors to come forward 
against him. 

Morgiana went home in profound grief, it may be imagined, and 
could hardly refrain from bursting into tears when the sugar-loaf 
page asked whether master was coming home early, or whether he 
had taken his key ; she lay awake tossing and wretched the whole 
night, and very early in the morning rose up, and dressed, and 
went out. 

Before nine o’clock she was in Cursitor Street, and once more 


THE RAVENSWING 425 

joyfully bounced into her husband’s arms ; who woke up yawning 
and swearing somewhat, with a severe headache, occasioned by the 
jollification of the previous night : for, strange though it may seem, 
there are perhaps no places in Europe where jollity is more practised 
than in prisons for debt ; and I declare for my own part (I mean, 
of course, that I went to visit a friend) I have dined at Mr. 
Aminadab’s as sumptuously as at Long’s. 

But it is necessary to account for Morgiana’s joyfulness ; which 
was strange in her husband’s perplexity, and after her sorrow of 
the previous night. Well, then, w T hen Mrs. Walker went out in 
the morning, she did so with a very large basket under her arm. 
“Shall I carry the basket, ma’am?” said the page, seizing it with 
much alacrity. 

“ No, thank you,” cried his mistress, with equal eagerness : “it’s 
only ” 

“ Of course, ma’am,” replied the boy, sneering, “ I knew it was 
that.” 

“ Glass,” continued Mrs. Walker, turning extremely red. “ Have 
the goodness to call a coach, sir, and not to speak till you are 
questioned.” 

The young gentleman disappeared upon his errand : the coach 
was called and came. Mrs. Walker slipped into it with her basket, 
and the page went downstairs to his companions in the kitchen, and 
said, “ It’s a-comin’ ! master’s in quod, and missus has gone out 
to pawn the plate.” When the cook went out that day, she some- 
how had by mistake placed in her basket a dozen of table-knives 
and a plated egg-stand. When the lady’s-maid took a walk in 
the course of the afternoon, she found she had occasion for eight 
cambric pocket-handkerchiefs (marked with her mistress’s cipher), 
half-a-dozen pair of shoes, gloves, long and short, some silk stockings, 
and a gold-headed scent-bottle. “ Both the new cashmeres is gone,” 
said she, “ and there’s nothing left in Mrs. Walker’s trinket-box but 
a paper of pins and an old coral bracelet.” As for the page, he 
rushed incontinently to his master’s dressing-room and examined 
every one of the pockets of his clothes ; made a parcel of some of 
them, and opened all the drawers which Walker had not locked 
before his departure. He only found three-halfpence and a bill 
stamp, and about forty-five tradesmen’s accounts, neatly labelled 
and tied up with red tape. These three worthies, a groom who 
was a great admirer of Trimmer the lady’s-maid, and a policeman 
a friend of the cook’s, sat down to a comfortable dinner at the usual 
hour, and it was agreed among them all that Walker’s ruin was 
certain. The cook made the policeman a present of a china punch- 
bowl which Mrs. Walker had given her ; and the lady’s-maid gave 


MEN’S WIVES 


426 ' 

her friend the “ Book of Beauty ” for last year, and the third volume 
of Byron’s poems from the drawing-room table. 

“ I’m dash’d if she ain’t taken the little French clock, too,” said 
the page, and so indeed Mrs. Walker had; it slipped in the basket 
where it lay enveloped in one of her shawls, and then struck madly 
and unnaturally a great number of times, as Morgiana was lifting 
her store of treasures out of the hackney-coach. The coachman 
wagged his head sadly as he saw her walking as quick as she could 
under her heavy load, and disappearing round the corner of the 
street at which Mr. Balls’s celebrated jewellery establishment is 
situated. It is a grand shop, with magnificent silver cups and 
salvers, rare gold-headed canes, flutes, watches, diamond brooches, 
and a few fine specimens of the old masters in the window, and 
under the words — 


Balls, Jeweller, 

you read, Money Lent , 

in the very smallest type on the door. 

The interview with Mr. Balls need not be described; but it 
must have been a satisfactory one, for at the end of half-an-hour 
Morgiana returned and bounded into the coach with sparkling eyes, 
and told the driver to gallop to Cursitor Street ; which, smiling, 
he promised to do, and accordingly set off in that direction at the 
rate of four miles an hour. “ I thought so,” said the philosophic 
charioteer. “When a man’s in quod, a woman don’t mind her 
silver spoons ; ” and he was so delighted with her action, that he 
forgot to grumble when she came to settle accounts with him, even 
though she gave him only double his fare. 

“ Take me to him,” said she to the young Hebrew who opened 
the door. 

“To whom?” says the sarcastic youth; “there’s twenty hims 
here. You’re precious early.” 

“ To Captain Walker, young man,” replied Morgiana haughtily ; 
whereupon the youth, opening the second door, and seeing Mr. 
Bendigo in a flowered dressing-gown descending the stairs, exclaimed, 
“ Papa, here’s a lady for the Captain.” “ I’m come to free him,” 
said she, trembling, and holding out a bundle of bank-notes. “ Here’s 
the amount of your claim, sir — two hundred and twenty guineas, 
as you told me last night.” The Jew took the notes, and grinned 
as he looked at her, and grinned double as he looked at his son, 
and begged Mrs. Walker to step into his study and take a receipt. 
When the door of that apartment closed upon the lady and his 
father, Mr. Bendigo the younger fell back in an agony of laughter. 


THE RAVENSWING 427 

which it is impossible to describe in words, and presently ran out 
into a court where some of the luckless inmates of the house 
were already taking the air, and communicated something to them 
which made those individuals also laugh as uproariously as he had 
previously done. 

Well, after joyfully taking the receipt from Mr. Bendigo (how 
her cheeks flushed and her heart fluttered as she dried it on the 
blotting-book !), and after turning very pale again on hearing that 
the Captain had had a very bad night : “ And well he might, poor 
dear ! ” said she (at which Mr. Bendigo, having no person to grin 
at, grinned at a marble bust of Mr. Pitt, which ornamented his 
sideboard) — Morgiana, I say, these preliminaries being concluded, 
was conducted to her husband’s apartment, and once more flinging 
her arms round her dearest Howard’s neck, told him with one of 
the sweetest smiles in the world, to make haste and get up and 
come home, for breakfast was waiting and the carriage at the door. 

“ What do you mean, love ? ” said the Captain, starting up and 
looking exceedingly surprised. 

“ I mean that my dearest is free ; that the odious little creature 
is paid — at least the horrid bailiff is.” 

“Have you been to Baroski?” said Walker, turning very red. 

“ Howard ! ” said his wife, quite indignant. 

“Did — did your mother give you the money?” asked the 
Captain. 

“ No ; I had it by me,” replies Mrs. Walker, with a very 
knowing look. 

Walker was more surprised than ever. “ Have you any more 
by you ? ” said he. 

Mrs. Walker showed him her purse with two guineas. “ That 
is all, love,” she said. “And I wish,” continued she, “you would 
give me a draft to pay a whole list of little bills that have some- 
how all come in within the last few days.” 

“Well, well, you shall have the cheque,” continued Mr. Walker, 
and began forthwith to make his toilet, which completed, he rang 
for Mr. Bendigo, and his bill, and intimated his wish to go home 
directly. 

The honoured bailiff brought the bill, but with regard to his 
being free, said it was impossible. 

“How impossible?” said Mrs. Walker, turning very red and 
then very pale. “ Did I not pay just now ? ” 

“ So you did, and you’ve got the reshipt ; but there’s another 
detainer against the Captain for a hundred and fifty. Eglantine 
and Mossrose, of Bond Street ; — perfumery for five years, you 
know.” 


428 


MEN’S WIVES 


“You don’t mean to say you were such a fool as to pay with- 
out asking if there were any more detainers?” roared Walker to 
his wife. 

“Yes, she was, though,” chuckled Mr. Bendigo ; “ but she’ll 
know better the next time : and, besides, Captain, what’s a hundred 
and fifty pounds to you ? ” 

Though Walker desired nothing so much in the world at that 
moment as the liberty to knock down his wife, his sense of prudence 
overcame his desire for justice : if that feeling may be called pru- 
dence on his part, which consisted in a strong wish to cheat the 
bailiff into the idea that he (Walker) was an exceedingly respectable 
and wealthy man. Many worthy persons indulge in this fond 
notion, that they are imposing upon the world; strive to fancy, 
for instance, that their bankers consider them men of property 
because they keep a tolerable balance, pay little tradesmen’s bills 
with ostentatious punctuality, and so forth — but the world, let us 
be pretty sure, is as wise as need be, and guesses our real condition 
with a marvellous instinct, or learns it with curious skill. The 
London tradesman is one of the keenest judges of human nature 
extant; and if a tradesman, how much more a bailiff? In reply 
to the ironic question, “What’s a hundred and fifty pounds to 
you?” Walker, correcting himself, answers, “It is an infamous 
imposition, and I owe the money no more than you do ; but, never- 
theless, I shall instruct my lawyers to pay it in the course of the 
morning : under protest, of course.” 

“ Oh, of course,” said Mr. Bendigo, bowing and quitting the 
room, and leaving Mrs. Walker to the pleasure of a tete-a-tete with 
her husband. 

And now being alone with the partner of his bosom, the worthy 
gentleman began an address to her which cannot be put down on 
paper here ; because the world is exceedingly squeamish, and does 
not care to hear the whole truth about rascals, and because the 
fact is that almost every other word of the Captain’s speech was 
a curse, such as would shock the beloved reader were it put in 
print. 

Fancy, then, in lieu of the conversation, a scoundrel, dis- 
appointed and in a fury, wreaking his brutal revenge upon an 
amiable woman, who sits trembling and pale, and wondering at 
this sudden exhibition of wrath. Fancy how he clenches his fists 
and stands over her, and stamps and screams out curses with a 
livid face, growing wilder and wilder in his rage ; wrenching her 
hand when she wants to turn away, and only stopping at last 
when she has fallen off the chair in a fainting fit, with a heart- 
breaking sob that made the Jew-boy who was listening at the 


















THE RAVENSWING 429 

keyhole turn quite pale and walk away. Well, it is best, perhaps 
that such a conversation should not be told at length : — at the 
end of it, when Mr. Walker had his wife lifeless on the floor, he 
seized a water-jug and poured it over her; which operation pretty 
soon brought her to herself, and shaking her black ringlets, she 
looked up once more again timidly into his face, and took his 
hand, and began to cry. 

He spoke now in a somewhat softer voice, and let her keep 
paddling on with his hand as before; he couldn't speak very 
fiercely to the poor girl in her attitude of defeat, and tenderness, 
and supplication. “ Morgiana,” said he, “ your extravagance and 
carelessness have brought me to ruin, I’m afraid. If you had 
chosen to have gone to Baroski, a word from you would have 
made him withdraw the writ, and my property wouldn’t have 
been sacrificed, as it has now been, for nothing. It mayn’t be 
yet too late, however, to retrieve ourselves. This bill of Eglan- 
tine’s is a regular conspiracy, I am sure, between Mossrose and 
Bendigo here : you must go to Eglantine — he’s an old — an old 
flame of yours, you know.” 

She dropped his hand : “ I can’t go to Eglantine after what 
has passed between us,” she said; but Walker’s face instantly 
began to wear a certain look, and she said with a shudder, “Well, 
well, dear, I will go.” “You will go to Eglantine, and ask him 
to take a bill for the amount of this shameful demand — at any date, 
never mind what. Mind, however, to see him alone, and I’m sure 
if you choose you can settle the business. Make haste ; set off 
directly, and come back, as there may be more detainers in.” 

Trembling, and in a great flutter, Morgiana put on her bonnet 
and gloves, and went towards the door. “It’s a fine morning,” 
said Mr. Walker, looking out : “a walk will do you good ; and — 
Morgiana — didn’t you say you had a couple of guineas in your 
pocket 1 ” 

“ Here it is,” said she, smiling all at once, and holding up her 
face to be kissed. She paid the two guineas for the kiss. Was it 
not a mean act ? “ Is it possible that people can love where they 

do not respect'?” says Miss Prim: “/ never would.” Nobody 
asked you, Miss Prim : but recollect Morgiana was not born with 
your advantages of education and breeding ; and was, in fact, a poor 
vulgar creature, who loved Mr. Walker, not because her mamma told 
her, nor because he was an exceedingly eligible and well-brought-up 
young man, not because she could not help it, and knew no better. 
Nor is Mrs. Walker set up as a model of virtue : ah no ! when I 
want a model of virtue I will call in Baker Street, and ask for a 
sitting of my dear (if I may be permitted to say so) Miss Prim. 


430 


MEN’S WIVES 


We have Mr. Howard Walker safely housed in Mr. Bendigo’s 
establishment in Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane ; and it looks like 
mockery and want of feeling towards the excellent hero of this story 
(or, as should rather be said, towards the husband of the heroine) 
to say what he might have been but for the unlucky little circum- 
stance of Baroski’s passion for Morgiana. 

If Baroski had not fallen in love with Morgiana, he would not 
have given her two hundred guineas’ worth of lessons; he would 
not have so far presumed as to seize her hand, and attempt to kiss 
it ; if he had not attempted to kiss her, she would not have boxed 
his ears; he would not have taken out the writ against Walker; 
Walker would have been free, very possibly rich, and therefore 
certainly respected : he always said that a month’s more liberty 
would have set him beyond the reach of misfortune. 

The assertion is very likely a correct one; for Walker had a 
flashy enterprising genius, which ends in wealth sometimes ; in the 
King’s Bench not seldom ; occasionally, alas ! in Van Diemen’s 
Land. He might have been rich, could he have kept his credit, 
and had not his personal expenses and extravagances pulled him 
down. He had gallantly availed himself of his wife’s fortune ; 
nor could any man in London, as he proudly said, have made five 
hundred pounds go so far. He had, as we have seen, furnished a 
house, sideboard, and cellar with it : he had a carriage, and horses 
in his stable, and with the remainder he had purchased shares in 
four companies — of three of which he was founder and director, 
had conducted innumerable bargains in the foreign stocks, had lived 
and entertained sumptuously and made himself a very considerable 
income. He had set up The Capitol Loan and Life Assurance 
Company, had discovered the Chimborazo gold mines, and the 
Society for Recovering and Draining the Pontine Marshes ; capital 
ten millions ; patron His Holiness the Pope. It certainly was 
stated in an evening paper that his Holiness had made him a 
Knight of the Spur, and had offered to him the rank of Count ; 
and he was raising a loan for his Highness the Cacique of Panama, 
who had sent him (by way of dividend) the grand cordon of his 
Highness’s order of the Castle and Falcon, which might be seen 
any day at his office in Bond Street, with the parchments signed 
and sealed by the Grand Master and Falcon King-at-arms of his 
Highness. In a week more Walker would have raised a hundred 
thousand pounds on his Highness’s twenty per cent, loan ; he 
would have had fifteen thousand pounds commission for himself ; 
his companies would have risen to par, he would have realised his 
shares ; he would have gone into Parliament ; he would have been 
made a baronet, who knows 1 a peer, probably ! “ And I appeal 


THE RAVENSWING 


431 


to you, sir,” Walker would say to his friends, “could any man have 
shown better proof of his affection for his wife than by laying out 
her little miserable money as I did 1 ? They call me heartless, sir, 
because I didn’t succeed ; sir, my life has been a series of sacrifices 
for that woman, such as no man ever performed before.” 

A proof of Walker’s dexterity and capability for business may 
be seen in the fact that he had actually appeased and reconciled 
one of his bitterest enemies — our honest friend Eglantine. After 
Walker’s marriage Eglantine, who had now no mercantile dealings 
with his former agent, became so enraged with him, that, as the 
only means of revenge in his power, he sent him in his bill for goods 
supplied to the amount of one hundred and fifty guineas, and sued 
him for the amount. But Walker stepped boldly over to his enemy, 
and in the course of half-an-hour they were friends. 

Eglantine promised to forego his claim ; and accepted in lieu of 
it three hundred-pound shares of the ex-Panama stock, bearing 
twenty-five per cent., payable half-yearly at the house of Hocus 
Brothers, St. Swithin’s Lane ; three hundred-pound shares, and the 
second class of the order of the Castle and Falcon, with the riband 
and badge. “ In four years, Eglantine, my boy, I hope to get you 
the Grand Cordon of the order,” said Walker : “ I hope to see you 
a Knight Grand Cross, with a grant of a hundred thousand acres 
reclaimed from the Isthmus.” 

To do my poor Eglantine justice, he did not care for the hundred 
thousand acres — it was the star that delighted him : — ah ! how his 
fat chest heaved with delight as he sewed on the cross and riband 
to his dress-coat, and lighted up four wax candles and looked at 
himself in the glass. He was known to wear a greatcoat after that 
— it was that he might wear the cross under it. That year he 
went on a trip to Boulogne. He was dreadfully ill during the 
voyage, but as the vessel entered the port he was seen to emerge 
from the cabin, his coat open, the star blazing on his chest; the 
soldiers saluted him as he walked the streets, he was called Monsieur 
le Chevalier, and when he went home he entered into negotiations 
with Walker to purchase a commission in his Highness’s service. 
Walker said he would get him the nominal rank of Captain, the 
fees at the Panama War Office were five-and-twenty pounds, which 
sum honest Eglantine produced, and had his commission, and a pack 
of visiting cards printed as Captain Archibald Eglantine, K.C.F. 
Many a time he looked at them as they lay in his desk, and he kept 
the cross in his dressing-table, and wore it as he shaved every 
morning. 

His Highness the Cacique, it is well known, came to England, 
and had lodgings in Regent Street, where he held a levee, at which 


432 


MEN’S WIVES 


Eglantine appeared in the Panama uniform, and was most graciously 
received by his Sovereign. His Highness proposed to make Captain 
Eglantine his aide-de-camp with the rank of Colonel, but the 
Captain’s exchequer was rather low at that moment, and the fees at 
the “War Office” were peremptory. Meanwhile his Highness 
left Regent Street, was said by some to have returned to Panama, 
by others to be in his native city of Cork, by others to be leading a 
life of retirement in the New Cut, Lambeth ; at any rate was not 
visible for some time, so that Captain Eglantine’s advancement did 
not take place. Eglantine was somehow ashamed to mention his 
military and chivalric rank to Mr. Mossrose, when that gentleman 
came into partnership with him ; and kept these facts secret, until 
they were detected by a very painful circumstance. On the very 
day when Walker was arrested at the suit of Benjamin Baroski, 
there appeared in the newspapers an account of the imprisonment of 
his Highness the Prince of Panama for a bill owing to a licensed 
victualler in Ratcliff Highway. The magistrate to whom the 
victualler subsequently came to complain passed many pleasantries 
on the occasion. He asked whether his Highness did not drink 
like a swan with two necks ; whether he had brought any Belles 
savages with him from Panama, and so forth ; and the whole court, 
said the report, “ was convulsed with laughter when Boniface pro- 
duced a green and yellow riband with a large star of the order of 
the Castle and Falcon, with which his Highness proposed to gratify 
him, in lieu of paying his little bill.” 

It was as he was reading the above document with a bleeding 
heart that Mr. Mossrose came in from his daily walk to the City. 
“Veil, Eglantine,” says he, “have you heard the newsh'?” 

“ About his Highness ? ” 

“About your friend Valker; he’s arrested for two hundred 
poundsh ! ” 

Eglantine at this could contain no more ; but told his story of 
how he had been induced to accept three hundred pounds of Panama 
stock for his account against Walker, and cursed his stars for his 
folly. 

“Veil, you’ve only to bring in another bill,” said the younger 
perfumer; “swear he owes you a hundred and fifty pounds, and 
we’ll have a writ out against him this afternoon.” 

And so a second writ was taken out against Captain Walker. 

“ You’ll have his wife here very likely in a day or two,” said 
Mr. Mossrose to his partner; “them chaps always sends their 
wives, and I hope you know how to deal with her.” 

“ I don’t value her a fig’s hend,” said Eglantine. “ I’ll treat 
her like the dust of the hearth. After that woman’s conduct to 


4 33 


THE RAVENSWING 

me, I should like to see her have the haudacity to come here ; and 
if she does, you’ll see how I’ll serve her.” 

The worthy perfumer was, in fact, resolved to be exceedingly 
hard-hearted in his behaviour towards his old love, and acted over 
at night in bed the scene which was to occur when the meeting 
should take place. Oh, thought he, but it will be a grand thing 
to see the proud Morgiana on her knees to me ; and me appointing 
to the door, and saying, “Madam, you’ve steeled this ’eart against 
you, you have ; — bury the recollection of old times, of those old 
times when I thought my ’eart would have broke, but it didn’t — 
no : ’earts are made of sterner stuff. I didn’t die, as I thought I 
should ; I stood it, and live to see the woman I despised at my feet 
— ha, ha, at my feet ! ” 

In the midst of these thoughts Mr. Eglantine fell asleep ; but 
it was evident that the idea of seeing Morgiana once more agitated 
him considerably, else why should he have been at the pains of 
preparing so much heroism 1 His sleep was exceedingly fitful and 
troubled ; he saw Morgiana in a hundred shapes ; he dreamed that 
he was dressing her hair ; that he was riding with her to Richmond ; 
that the horse turned into a dragon, and Morgiana into Woolsey, 
who took him by the throat and choked him, while the dragon 
played the key-bugle. And in the morning, when Mossrose was 
gone to his business in the City, and he sat reading the Morning 
Post in his study, ah ! what a thump his heart gave as the lady 
of his dreams actually stood before him ! 

Many a lady who purchased brushes at Eglantine’s shop would 
have given ten guineas for such a colour as his when he saw her. 
His heart beat violently, he was almost choking in his stays : he 
had been prepared for the visit, but his courage failed him now it 
had come. They were both silent for some minutes. 

“You know what I am come for,” at last said Morgiana from 
under her veil, but she put it aside as she spoke. 

“ I — that is — yes — it’s a painful affair, mem,” he said, giving 
one look at her pale face, and then turning away in a flurry. “ I 
beg to refer you to Blunt, Hone, and Sharpus, my lawyers, mem,” 
he added, collecting himself. 

“ I didn’t expect this from you, Mr. Eglantine,” said the lady, 
and began to sob. 

“ And after what’s ’appened, I didn’t expect a visit from you, 
mem. I thought Mrs. Capting Walker was too great a dame to 
visit poor Harchibald Eglantine (though some of the first men in 
the country do visit him). Is there anything in which I can oblige 
you, mem?” 

“ 0 heavens ! ” cried the poor woman ; “ have I no friend 


434 MEN’S WIVES 

left ? I never thought that you, too, would have deserted me, Mr. 
Archibald.” 

The “ Archibald,” pronounced in the old way, had evidently an 
effect on the perfumer ; he winced and looked at her very eagerly 
for a moment. “ What can I do for you, mem 1 ” at last said he. 

“What is this bill against Mr. Walker, for which he is now in 
prison 1 ” 

“ Perfumery supplied for five years ; that man used more ’air- 
brushes than any duke in the land, and as for eau-de-cologne, he 
must have bathed himself in it. He hordered me about like a lord. 
He never paid me one shilling — he stabbed me in my most vital 
part — but ah ! ah ! never mind that : and I said I would be 
revenged, and I am” 

The perfumer was quite in a rage again by this time, and wiped 
his fat face with his pocket-handkerchief, and glared upon Mrs. 
Walker with a most determined air. 

“ Revenged on whom 1 Archibald — Mr. Eglantine, revenged on 
me — on a poor woman whom you made miserable ! You would not 
have done so once.” 

“ Ha ! and a precious way you treated me once” said Eglantine ; 
“ don’t talk to me, mem, of once. Bury the recollection of once for 
hever ! I thought my ’eart would have broke once, but no : ’earts 
are made of sterner stuff. I didn’t die, as I thought I should ; I 
stood it — and I live to see the woman who despised me at my feet.” 

“ Oh, Archibald ! ” was all the lady could say, and she fell to 
sobbing again : it was perhaps her best argument with the perfumer. 

“ Oh, Harchibald, indeed ! ” continued he, beginning to swell ; 
“ don’t call me Harchibald, Morgiana. Think what a position you 
might have held if you’d chose : when, when — you might have called 
me Harchibald. Now it’s no use,” added he, with harrowing pathos ; 
“ but, though I’ve been wronged, I can’t bear to see women in tears 
— tell me what I can do.” 

“Dear good Mr. Eglantine, send to your lawyers and stop this 
horrid prosecution — take Mr. Walker’s acknowledgment for the debt. 
If he is free, he is sure to have a very large sum of money in a few 
days, and will pay you all. Do not ruin him — do not ruin me by 
persisting now. Be the old kind Eglantine you were.” 

Eglantine took a hand, which Morgiana did not refuse ; he thought 
about old times. He had known her since childhood almost ; as a 
girl he dandled her on his knee at the “ Kidneys ” ; as a woman he 
had adored her — his heart was melted. 

“ He did pay me in a sort of way,” reasoned the perfumer with 
himself — “ these bonds, though they are not worth much, I took ’em 
for better or for worse, and I can’t bear to see her crying, and to 


435 


THE RAVENSWING 

trample on a woman in distress. Morgiana,” he added, in a loud 
cheerful voice, “ cheer up ; I’ll give you a release for your husband : 
I will be the old kind Eglantine I was.” 

“ Be the old kind jackass you vash ! ” here roared a voice that 
made Mr. Eglantine start. “ Vy, vat an old fat fool you are, Eglantine, 
to give up our just debts because a voman comes snivelling and crying 
to you— and such a voman, too ! ” exclaimed Mr. Mossrose, for his 
was the voice. 

“ Such a woman, sir ? ” cried the senior partner. 

“Yes; such a voman— vy, didn’t she jilt you herself? — hasn’t 
she been trying the same game with Baroski ; and are you so green as 
to give up a hundred and fifty pounds because she takes a fancy to 
come vimpering here? I won’t, I can tell you. The money’s as 
much mine as it is yours, and I’ll have it or keep Walker’s body, 
that’s what I will.” 

At the presence of his partner, the timid good genius of Eglantine, 
which had prompted him to mercy and kindness, at once outspread 
its frightened wings and flew away. 

“You see how it is, Mrs. W.,” said he, looking down; “it’s an 
affair of business — in all these here affairs of business Mr. Mossrose 
is the managing man ; ain’t you, Mr. Mossrose ? ” 

“ A pretty business it would be if I wasn’t,” replied Mossrose 
doggedly. “ Come, ma’am,” says he, “ I’ll tell you vat I do : I take 
fifty per shent. ; not a farthing less — give me that, and out your 
husband goes.” 

“ Oh, sir, Howard will pay you in a week.” 

“ Veil, den, let him stop at my uncle Bendigo’s for a week, and 
come out den — he’s very comfortable there,” said Shylock with a grin. 
“ Hadn’t you better go to the shop, Mr. Eglantine,” continued he, 
“and look after your business? Mrs. Walker can’t want you to 
listen to her all day.” 

Eglantine was glad of the excuse, and slunk out of the studio ; 
not into the shop, but into his parlour ; where he drank off a great 
glass of maraschino, and sat blushing and exceedingly agitated, until 
Mossrose came to tell him that Mrs. W. was gone, and wouldn’t 
trouble him any more. But although he drank several more glasses 
of maraschino, and went to the play that night, and to the Cider- 
cellars afterwards, neither the liquor, nor the play, nor the delightful 
comic songs at the cellars, could drive Mrs. Walker out of his head, 
and the memory of old times, and the image of her pale weeping face. 

Morgiana tottered out of the shop, scarcely heeding the voice of 
Mr. Mossrose, who said, “ I’ll take forty per shent. ” (and went back 
to his duty cursing himself for a soft-hearted fool for giving up so 
much of his rights to a puling woman). Morgiana, I say, tottered 


436 


MEN’S WIVES 


out of the shop, and went up Conduit Street, weeping, weeping with 
all her eyes. She was quite faint, for she had taken nothing that 
morning but the glass of water which the pastry-cook in the Strand 
had given her, and was forced to take hold of the railings of a house 
for support just as a little gentleman with a yellow handkerchief 
under his arm was issuing from the door. 

“ Good heavens, Mrs. Walker ! ” said the gentleman. It was 
no other than Mr. Woolsey, who was going forth to try a body-coat 
for a customer. “ Are you ill 1 — what’s the matter 1 for God’s 
sake come in ! ” and he took her arm under his, and led her into 
his back-parlour, and seated her, and had some wine and water 
before her in one minute, before she had said one single word re- 
garding herself. 

As soon as she was somewhat recovered, and with the interrup- 
tion of a thousand sobs, the poor thing told as well as she could 
her little story. Mr. Eglantine had arrested Mr. Walker : she had 
been trying to gain time for him ; Eglantine had refused. 

“ The hard-hearted cowardly brute to refuse her anything ! ” 
said loyal Mr. Woolsey. “My dear,” says he, “I’ve no reason to 
love your husband, and I know too much about him to respect him ; 
but I love and respect you, and will spend my last shilling to serve 
you.” At which Morgiana could only take his hand and cry a great 
deal more than ever. She said Mr. Walker would have a great 
deal of money in a week, that he was the best of husbands, and 
she was sure Mr. Woolsey would think better of him when he knew 
him ; that Mr. Eglantine’s bill was one hundred and fifty pounds, 
but that Mr. Mossrose would take forty per cent, if Mr. Woolsey 
could say how much that was. 

“ I’ll pay a thousand pound to do you good,” said Mr. Woolsey, 
bouncing up ; “ stay here for ten minutes, my dear, until my return, 
and all shall be right, as you will see.” He was back in ten minutes, 
and had called a cab from the stand opposite (all the coachmen 
there had seen and commented on Mrs. Walker’s woebegone looks), 
and they were off for Cursitor Street in a moment. “ They’ll settle 
the whole debt for twenty pounds,” said he, and showed an order 
to that effect from Mr. Mossrose to Mr. Bendigo, empowering the 
latter to release Walker on receiving Mr. Woolsey ’s acknowledgment 
for the above sum. 

“There’s no use paying it,” said Mr. Walker doggedly; “it 
would only be robbing you, Mr. Woolsey — seven more detainers 
have come in while my wife has been away. I must go through 
the court now ; but,” he added in a whisper to the tailor, “ my 
good sir, my debts of honour are sacred, and if you will have the 


THE RAVENSWING 437 

goodness to lend me the twenty pounds, I pledge you my word as 
a gentleman to return it when I come out of quod.” 

It is probable that Mr. W oolsey declined this ; for, as soon as 
he was gone, Walker, in a tremendous fury, began cursing his wife 
for dawdling three hours on the road. “ Why the deuce, ma’am, 
didn’t you take a cab 1 ” roared he, when he heard she had walked 
to Bond Street. “ Those writs have only been in half-an-hour, and 
I might have been off but for you.” 

“Oh, Howard,” said she, “didn’t you take — didn’t I give you 
my — my last shilling % ” and fell back and wept again more bitterly 
than ever. 

“ Well, love,” said her amiable husband, turning rather red, 
“never mind, it wasn’t your fault. It is but going through the 
court. It is no great odds. I forgive you.” 


CHAPTER VI 


IN WHICH MR. WALKER STILL REMAINS IN DIFFICULTIES, BUT 
SHOWS GREAT RESIGNATION UNDER HIS MISFORTUNES 

HE exemplary Walker, seeing that escape from his enemies 



was hopeless, and that it was his duty as a man to turn on 


* them and face them, now determined to quit the splendid 
though narrow lodgings which Mr. Bendigo had provided for 
him, and undergo the martyrdom of the Fleet. Accordingly, in 
company with that gentleman, he came over to her Majesty’s 
prison, and gave himself into the custody of the officers there ; 
and did not apply for the accommodation of the Rules (by which 
in those days the captivity of some debtors was considerably 
lightened), because he knew perfectly well that there was no 
person in the wide world who would give a security for the 
heavy sums for which Walker was answerable. What these sums 
were is no matter, and on this head we do not think it at all 
necessary to satisfy the curiosity of the reader. He may have 
owed hundreds — thousands, his creditors only can tell; he paid 
the dividend which has been formerly mentioned, and showed 
thereby his desire to satisfy all claims upon him to the uttermost 


farthing. 


As for the little house in Connaught Square, when, after 
quitting her husband, Morgiana drove back thither, the door was 
opened by the page, who instantly thanked her to pay his 
wages; and in the drawing-room, on a yellow satin sofa, sat a 
seedy man (with a pot of porter beside him placed on an album 
for fear of staining the rosewood table), and the seedy man signi- 
fied that he had taken possession of the furniture in execution 
for a judgment debt. Another seedy man was in the dining-room, 
reading a newspaper, and drinking gin ; he informed Mrs. Walker 
that he was the representative of another judgment debt and of 
another execution “ There’s another on ’em in the kitchen,” 
said the page, “taking an inwentory of the furniture; and he 
swears he’ll have you took up for swindling, for pawning the 
plate.” 

“Sir,” said Mr. Woolsey, for that worthy man had conducted 


THE RAVENSWING 439 

Morgiana home — “sir,” said he, shaking his stick at the young 
page, “if you give any more of your impudence, I’ll beat every 
button off your jacket : ” and as there were some four hundred of 
these ornaments, the page was silent. It was a great mercy for 
Morgiana that the honest and faithful tailor had accompanied her. 
The good fellow had waited very patiently for her for an hour in 
the parlour or coffee-room of the lock-up house, knowing full well 
that she would want a protector on her way homewards ; and his 
kindness will be more appreciated when it is stated that, during 
the time of his delay in the coffee-room, he had been subject to the 
entreaties, nay, to the insults, of Cornet Fipkin of the Blues, who 
was in prison at the suit of Linsey, Woolsey & Co., and who 
happened to be taking his breakfast in the apartment when his 
obdurate creditor entered it. The Cornet (a hero of eighteen, who 
stood at least five feet three in his boots, and owed fifteen thousand 
pounds) was so enraged at the obduracy of his creditor, that he 
said he would have thrown him out of the window but for the 
bars which guarded it ; and entertained serious thoughts of knock- 
ing the tailor’s head off, but that the latter, putting his right leg 
forward and his fists in a proper attitude, told the young officer 
to “come on ” ; on which the Cornet cursed the tailor for a “ snob,” 
and went back to his breakfast. 

The execution people having taken charge of Mr. Walker’s 
house, Mrs. Walker was driven to take refuge with her mamma 
near “Sadler’s Wells,” and the Captain remained comfortably 
lodged in the Fleet. He had some ready money, and with it 
managed to make his existence exceedingly comfortable. He lived 
with the best society of the place, consisting of several distinguished 
young noblemen and gentlemen. He spent the morning playing 
at fives and smoking cigars ; the evening smoking cigars and dining 
comfortably. Cards came after dinner; and, as the Captain was 
an experienced player, and near a score of years older than most 
of his friends, he was generally pretty successful : indeed, if he had 
received all the money that was owed to him, he might have come 
out of prison and paid his creditors twenty shillings in the pound — 
that is, if he had been minded to do so. But there is no use in 
examining into that point too closely, for the fact is, young Fipkin 
only paid him forty pounds out of seven hundred, for which he 
gave him I.O.U.’s ; Algernon Deuceace not only did not pay him 
three hundred and twenty which he lost at blind hookey, but 
actually borrowed seven and sixpence in money from Walker, which 
has never been repaid to this day ; and Lord Doublequits actually 
lost nineteen thousand pounds to him at heads and tails, which he 
never paid, pleading drunkenness and his minority. The reader 


440 MEN’S WIVES 

may recollect a paragraph which went the round of the papers 
entitled — 

“ Affair of honour in the Fleet Prison . — Yesterday morning 
(behind the pump in the second court) Lord D-bl-qu-ts and 
Captain H-w-rd W-lk-r (a near relative, we understand, of his 
Grace the Duke of N-rf-lk) had a hostile meeting and exchanged 
two shots. These two young sprigs of nobility were attended to the 
ground by Major Flush, who, by the way, is flush no longer, and 

Captain Pam, late of the Dragoons. Play is said to have been 

the cause of the quarrel, and the gallant Captain is reported to have 
handled the noble lord’s nose rather roughly at one stage of the 
transactions.” 

When Morgiana at “ Sadler’s Wells ” heard these news, she was 
ready to faint with terror; and rushed to the Fleet Prison, and 
embraced her lord and master with her usual expansion and fits of 
tears : very much to that gentleman’s annoyance, who happened to 
be in company with Pam and Flush at the time, and did not care 
that his handsome wife should be seen too much in the dubious 
precincts of the Fleet. He had at least so much shame about him, 
and had always rejected her entreaties to be allowed to inhabit the 
prison with him. 

“It is enough,” would he say, casting his eyes heavenward, 
and with a most lugubrious countenance — “ it is enough, Morgiana, 
that / should suffer, even though your thoughtlessness has been 
the cause of my ruin. But enough of that ! I will not rebuke 
you for faults for which I know you are now repentant; and I 
never could bear to see you in the midst of the miseries of this 
horrible place. Remain at home with your mother, and let me 
drag on the weary days here alone. If you can get me any more 
of that pale sherry, my love, do. I require something to cheer 
me in solitude, and have found my chest very much relieved by 
that wine. Put more pepper and eggs, my dear, * into the next 
veal-pie you make me. I can’t eat the horrible messes in the coffee- 
room here.” 

It was Walker’s wish, I can’t tell why, except that it is the 
wish of a great number of other persons in this strange world, to 
make his wife believe that he was wretched in mind and ill in 
health ; and all assertions to this effect the simple creature received 
with numberless tears of credulity : she would go home to Mrs. 
Crump, and say how her darling Howard was pining away, how 
he was ruined for her , and with what angelic sweetness he bore his 
captivity. The fact is, he bore it with so much resignation that no 


441 


THE RAVENSWING 

other person in the world could see that he was unhappy. His 
life was undisturbed by duns ; his day was his own from morning 
till night; his diet was good, his acquaintances jovial, his purse 
tolerably well supplied, and he had not one single care to annoy 
him. 

Mrs. Crump and Woolsey, perhaps, received Morgiana’s account 
of her husband’s miseries with some incredulity. The latter was 
now a daily visitor to “ Sadler’s Wells.” His love for Morgiana had 
become a warm fatherly generous regard for her ; it was out of the 
honest fellow’s cellar that the wine used to come which did so much 
good to Mr. Walker’s chest ; and he tried a thousand ways to make 
Morgiana happy. 

A very happy day, indeed, it was when, returning from her 
visit to the Fleet, she found in her mother’s sitting-room her dear 
grand rosewood piano, and every one of her music-books, which the 
kind-hearted tailor had purchased at the sale of Walker’s effects. 
And I am not ashamed to say that Morgiana herself was so charmed, 
that when, as usual, Mr. Woolsey came to drink tea in the evening, 
she actually gave him a kiss ; which frightened Mr. Woolsey, and 
made him blush exceedingly. She sat down, and played him that 
evening every one of the songs which he liked — the old songs — none 
of your Italian stuff. Podmore, the old music-master, was there 
too, and was delighted and astonished at the progress in singing 
which Morgiana had made; and when the little party separated, 
he took Mr. Woolsey by the hand, and said, “Give me leave to tell 
you, sir, that you’re a trump .” 

“That he is,” said Canterfield, the first tragic; “an honour to 
human nature. A man whose hand is open as day to melting charity, 
and whose heart ever melts at the tale of woman’s distress.” 

“Pooh, pooh, stuff and nonsense, sir,” said the tailor; but, 
upon my word, Mr. Canterfield’s words were perfectly correct. I 
wish as much could be said in favour of Woolsey ’s old rival, Mr. 
Eglantine, who attended the sale too, but it was with a horrid kind 
of satisfaction at the thought that Walker was ruined. He bought 
the yellow satin sofa before mentioned, and transferred it to what 
he calls his “ sitting-room,” where it is to this day, bearing many 
marks of the best bear’s-grease. Woolsey bid against Baroski for 
the piano, very nearly up to the actual value of the instrument, 
when the artist withdrew from competition ; and when he was 
sneering at the ruin of Mr. Walker, the tailor sternly interrupted 
him by saying, “What the deuce are you sneering at? You did 
it, sir; and you’re paid every shilling of your claim, ain’t you?” 
On which Baroski turned round to Miss Larkins, and said 
Mr. Woolsey was a “snop”; the very word, though pronounced 


442 MEN’S WIVES 

somewhat, differently, which the gallant Cornet Fipkin had applied 
to him. 

Well ; so he was a snob. But, vulgar as he was, I declare, for 
my part, that I have a greater respect for Mr. Woolsey than for 
any single nobleman or gentleman mentioned in this true history. 

It will be seen from the names of Messrs. Canterfield and 
Podmore that Morgiana was again in the midst of the widow 
Crump’s favourite theatrical society; and this, indeed, was the 
case. The widow’s little room was hung round with the pictures 
which were mentioned at the commencement of the story as de- 
corating the bar of the “Bootjack”; and several times in a week 
she received her friends from “ The Wells,” and entertained them 
with such humble refreshments of tea and crumpets as her modest 
means permitted her to purchase. Among these persons Morgiana 
lived and sang quite as contentedly as she had ever done among the 
demireps of her husband’s society ; and, only she did not dare to 
own it to herself, was a great deal happier than she had been for 
many a day. Mrs. Captain Walker was still a great lady amongst 
them. Even in his ruin, Walker, the director of three companies, 
and the owner of the splendid pony-chaise, was to these simple 
persons an awful character ; and when mentioned they talked with 
a great deal of gravity of his being in the country, and hoped Mrs. 
Captain W. had good news of him. They all knew he was in the 
Fleet; but had he not in prison fought a duel with a viscount? 
Montmorency (of the Norfolk Circuit) was in the Fleet too ; and 
when Canterfield went to see poor Montey, the latter had pointed 
out Walker to his friend, who actually hit Lord George Tennison 
across the shoulders in play with a racket-bat; which event was 
soon made known to the whole green-room. 

“They had me up one day,” said Montmorency, “to sing a 
comic song, and give my recitations ; and we had champagne and 
lobster-salad : such nobs ! ” added the player. “ Billingsgate and 
Vauxhall were there too, and left college at eight o’clock.” 

When Morgiana was told of the circumstance by her mother, 
she hoped her dear Howard had enjoyed the evening, and was 
thankful that for once he could forget his sorrows. Nor, somehow, 
was she ashamed of herself for being happy afterwards, but gave 
way to her natural good-humour without repentance or self-rebuke. 
I believe, indeed (alas ! why are we made acquainted with the same 
fact regarding ourselves long after it is past and gone ?) — I believe 
these were the happiest days of Morgiana’s whole life. She had 
no cares except the pleasant one of attending on her husband, an 
easy smiling temperament which made her regardless of to-morrow ; 
and, add to this, a delightful hope relative to a certain interesting 


THE RAVENSWING 


443 


event which was about to occur, and which I shall not particularise 
further than by saying, that she was cautioned against too much 
singing by Mr. Squills, her medical attendant ; and that widow 
Crump was busy making up a vast number of little caps and 
diminutive cambric shirts, such as delighted grandmothers are in 
the habit of fashioning. I hope this is as genteel a way of signifying 
the circumstance which was about to take place in the Walker 
family as Miss Prim herself could desire. Mrs. Walker’s mother 
was about to become a grandmother. There’s a phrase ! The 
Morning Post , which says this story is vulgar, I’m sure cannot 
quarrel with that. I don’t believe the whole Court Guide would 
convey an intimation more delicately. 

Well, Mrs. Crump’s little grandchild was born, entirely to the 
dissatisfaction, I must say, of his father ; who, when the infant 
was brought to him in the Fleet, had him abruptly covered up 
in his cloak again, from which he had been removed by the jealous 
prison doorkeepers: why, do you think? Walker had a quarrel 
with one of them, and the wretch persisted in believing that the 
bundle Mrs. Crump was bringing to her son-in-law was a bundle 
of disguised brandy ! 

“ The brutes ! ” said the lady ; “ and the father’s a brute too,” 
said she. “ He takes no more notice of me than if I was a kitchen- 
maid, and of Woolsey than if he was a leg of mutton — the dear 
blessed little cherub ! ” 

Mrs. Crump was a mother-in-law ; let us pardon her hatred of 
her daughter’s husband. 

The Woolsey compared in the above sentence both to a leg of 
mutton and a cherub, was not the eminent member of the firm of 
Linsey, Woolsey & Co., but the little baby, who was christened 
Howard Woolsey Walker, with the full consent of the father; who 
said the tailor was a deuced good fellow, and felt really obliged to 
him for the sherry, for a frock-coat which he let him have in prison, 
and for his kindness to Morgiana. The tailor loved the little boy 
with all his soul; he attended his mother to her churching, and 
the child to the font ; and, as a present to his little godson on his 
christening, he sent two yards of the finest white kerseymere in 
his shop, to make him a cloak. The Duke had had a pair of 
inexpressibles off that very piece. 

House-furniture is bought and sold, music-lessons are given, 
children are born and christened, ladies are confined and churched 
— time, in other words, passes — -and yet Captain Walker still 
remains in prison ! Does it not seem strange that he should still 
languish there between palisaded walls near Fleet Market, and that 
he should not be restored to that active and fashionable world of 


444 


MEN’S WIVES 


which he was an ornament? The fact is, the Captain had been 
before the court for the examination of his debts ; and the Com- 
missioner, with a cruelty quite shameful towards a fallen man, had 
qualified his ways of getting money in most severe language, and 
had him sent back to prison again for the space of nine calendar 
months, an indefinite period, and until his accounts could be made 
up. This delay Walker bore like a philosopher, and, far from 
repining, was still the gayest fellow of the tennis-court, and the 
soul of the midnight carouse. 

There is no use in raking up old stories, and hunting through 
files of dead newspapers, to know what were the specific acts which 
made the Commissioner so angry with Captain Walker. Many a 
rogue has come before the court, and passed through it since then : 
and I would lay a wager that Howard Walker was not a bit worse 
than his neighbours. But as he was not a lord, and as he had no 
friends on coming out of prison, and had settled no money on his 
wife, and had, as it must be confessed, an exceedingly bad char- 
acter, it is not likely that the latter would be forgiven him when 
once more free in the world. For instance, when Doublequits left 
the Fleet, he was received with open arms by his family, and had 
two-and-thirty horses in his stables before a week was over. Pam, 
of the Dragoons, came out, and instantly got a place as government 
courier — a place found so good of late years (and no wonder, it is 
better pay than that of a colonel), that our noblemen and gentry 
eagerly press for it. Frank Hurricane was sent out as registrar 
of Tobago, or Sago, or Ticonderago ; in fact, for a younger son of 
good family it is rather advantageous to get into debt twenty or 
thirty thousand pounds : you are sure of a good place afterwards 
in the colonies. Your friends are so anxious to get rid of you, that 
they will move heaven and earth to serve you. And so all the 
above companions of misfortune with Walker were speedily made 
comfortable ; but he had no rich parents ; his old father was dead 
in York jail. How was he to start in the world again? What 
friendly hand was there to fill his pocket with gold, and his cup 
with sparkling champagne? He was, in fact, an object of the 
greatest pity — for I know of no greater than a gentleman of his 
habits without the means of gratifying them. He must live well, 
and he has not the means. Is there a more pathetic case? As 
for a mere low beggar — some labourless labourer, or some weaver 
out of place — don’t let us throw away our compassion upon them. 
Psha ! they’re accustomed to starve. They can sleep upon boards, 
or dine off a crust ; whereas a gentleman would die in the same 
situation. I think this was poor Morgiana’s way of reasoning. For 
Walker’s cash in prison beginning presently to run low, and know- 



AN INNOCENT TRAITOR. 














THE RAVENSWING 445 

ing quite well that the dear fellow could not exist there without 
the luxuries to which he had been accustomed, she borrowed money 
from her mother, until the poor old lady was a sec. She even con- 
fessed, with tears, to Woolsey, that she was in particular want of 
twenty pounds to pay a poor milliner, whose debt she could not 
bear to put in her husband’s schedule. And I need not say she 
carried the money to her husband, who might have been greatly 
benefited by it — only he had a bad run of luck at the cards ; and 
how the deuce can a man help that ? 

Woolsey had repurchased for her one of the Cashmere shawls. 
She left it behind her one day at the Fleet prison, and some rascal 
stole it there ; having the grace, however, to send Woolsey the 
ticket, signifying the place where it had been pawned. Who could 
the scoundrel have been 1 ? Woolsey swore a great oath, and fancied 
he knew ; but if it was Walker himself (as Woolsey fancied, and 
probably as was the case) who made away with the shawl, being 
pressed thereto by necessity, was it fair to call him a scoundrel for 
so doing, and should we not rather laud the delicacy of his pro- 
ceeding He was poor : who can command the cards 1 But he 
did not wish his wife should know how poor : he could not bear 
that she should suppose him arrived at the necessity of pawning a 
shawl. 

She who had such beautiful ringlets, of a sudden pleaded cold in 
the head, and took to wearing caps. One summer evening, as she 
and the baby and Mrs. Crump and Woolsey (let us say all four 
babies together) were laughing and playing in Mrs. Crump’s drawing- 
room — playing the most absurd gambols, fat Mrs. Crump, for 
instance, hiding behind the sofa, Woolsey chuck-chucking, cock-a- 
doodle-dooing, and performing those indescribable freaks which 
gentlemen with philoprogenitive organs will execute in the company 
of children — in the midst of their play the baby gave a tug at his 
mother’s cap ; off it came — her hair was cut close to her head ! 

Morgiana turned as red as sealing-wax, and trembled very much ; 
Mrs. Crump screamed, “ My child, where is your hair 1 ” and 
Woolsey, bursting out with a most tremendous oath against Walker 
that would send Miss Prim into convulsions, put his handkerchief to 
his face, and actually wept. “The infernal bubble-ubble-ackguard !|” 
said he, roaring and clenching his fists. 

As he had passed the Bower of Bloom a few days before, he saw 
Mossrose, who was combing out a jet-black ringlet, and held it up, 
as if for Woolsey’s examination, with a peculiar grin. The tailor 
did not understand the joke, but he saw now what had happened. 
Morgiana had sold her hair for five guineas ; she would have sold 
her arm had her husband bidden her. On looking in her drawers it 


446 


MEN’S WIVES 

was found she had sold almost all her wearing apparel ; the child’s 
clothes were all there, however. It was because her husband talked 
of disposing of a gilt coral that the child had, that she had parted 
with the locks which had formed her pride. 

“ I’ll give you twenty guineas for that hair, you infamous fat 
coward,” roared the little tailor to Eglantine that evening. “ Give 
it up, or I’ll kill you 

“ Mr. Mossrose ! Mr. Mossrose ! ” shouted the perfumer. 

“Veil, vatsh de matter, vatsh de row, fight avay, my boys; 
two to one on the tailor,” said Mr. Mossrose, much enjoying the 
sport (for Woolsey, striding through the shop without speaking 
to him, had rushed into the studio, where he plumped upon 
Eglantine). 

“ Tell him about that hair, sir.” 

“ That hair ! Now keep yourself quiet, Mister Timble, and 
don’t tink for to bully me. You mean Mrs. Valker’s ’air? Vy, 
she sold it me.” 

“ And the more blackguard you for buying it ! Will you take 
twenty guineas for it ? ” 

“No,” said Mossrose. 

“ Twenty-five 1 ” 

“ Can’t,” said Mossrose. 

“ Hang it ! will you take forty ? There ! ” 

“ I vish I’d kep it,” said the Hebrew gentleman, with unfeigned 
regret. “ Eglantine dressed it this very night.” 

“ For Countess Baldenstiern, the Swedish Hambassador’s lady,” 
says Eglantine (his Hebrew partner was by no means a favourite 
with the ladies, and only superintended the accounts of the con- 
cern). “ It’s this very night at Devonshire ’Ouse, with four 
hostrich plumes, lappets, and trimmings. And now, Mr. Woolsey, 
I’ll trouble you to apologise.” 

Mr. Woolsey did not answer, but walked up to Mr. Eglantine, 
and snapped his fingers so close under the perfumer’s nose that 
the latter started back and seized the bell-rope. Mossrose burst 
out laughing, and the tailor walked majestically from the shop, 
with both hands stuck between the lappets of his coat. 

“ My dear,” said he to Morgiana a short time afterwards, “ you 
must not encourage that husband of yours in his extravagance, and 
sell the clothes off your poor back that he may feast and act the 
fine gentleman in prison.” 

“ It is his health, poor dear soul ! ” interposed Mrs. Walker : 
“his chest. Every farthing of the money goes to the doctors, 
poor fellow ! ” 

“ Well, now listen : I am a rich man ” (it was a great fib, for 


THE RAVENS WING 


447 


Woolsey’s income, as a junior partner of the firm, was but a small 
one) ; “I can very well afford to make him an allowance while he 
is in the Fleet, and have written to him to say so. But if you 
ever give him a penny, or sell a trinket belonging to you, upon my 
word and honour I will withdraw the allowance, and, though it 
would go to my heart, I’ll never see you again. You wouldn’t 
make me unhappy, would you 1 ” 

“I’d go on my knees to serve you, and Heaven bless you,” 
said the wife. 

“ Well, then, you must give me this promise.” And she did. 
“ And now,” said he, “ your mother, and Podmore, and I have 
been talking over matters, and we’ve agreed that you may make 
a very good income for yourself; though, to be sure, I wish it 
could have been managed any other way ; but needs must, you 
know. You’re the finest singer in the universe.” 

“La ! ” said Morgiana, highly delighted. 

“ I never heard anything like you, though I’m no judge. 
Podmore says he is sure you wall do very well, and has no doubt 
you might get very good engagements at concerts or on the stage ; 
and as that husband will never do any good, and you have a 
child to support, sing you must.” 

“ Oh ! how glad I should be to pay his debts and repay all 
he has done for me,” cried Mrs. Walker. “Think of his giving 
two hundred guineas to Mr. Baroski to have me taught. Was 
not that kind of him % Do you really think I should succeed % ” 

“ There’s Miss Larkins has succeeded.” 

“ The little high-shouldered vulgar thing ! ” says Morgiana. 
“ I’m sure I ought to succeed if she did.” 

“ She sing against Morgiana ? ” said Mrs. Crump. “ I’d like 
to see her, indeed ! She ain’t fit to snuff a candle to her.” 

“I dare say not,” said the tailor, “though I don’t understand 
the thing myself; but if Morgiana can make a fortune, why 
shouldn’t she 1 ” 

“Heaven knows we want it, Woolsey,” cried Mrs. Crump. 
“ And to see her on the stage was always the wish of my heart : ” 
and so it had formerly been the wish of Morgiana; and now, 
with the hope of helping her husband and child, the wish became 
a duty, and she fell to practising once more from morning till 
night. 

One of the most generous of men and tailors who ever lived now 
promised, if further instruction should be considered necessary (though 
that he could hardly believe possible), that he would lend Morgiana 
any sum required for the payment of lessons ; and accordingly she 
once more betook herself, under Podmore’s advice, to the singing 


448 


MEN’S WIVES 


school. Baroski’s academy was, after the passages between them, 
out of the question, and she placed herself under the instruction of 
the excellent English composer Sir George Thrum, whose large and 
awful wife, Lady Thrum, dragon of virtue and propriety, kept watch 
over the master and the pupils, and was the sternest guardian of 
female virtue on or off any stage. 

Morgiana came at a propitious moment. Baroski had launched 
Miss Larkins under the name of Ligonier. The Ligonier was enjoy- 
ing considerable success, and was singing classical music to tolerable 
audiences ; whereas Miss Butts, Sir George’s last pupil, had turned 
out a complete failure, and the rival house was only able to make a 
faint opposition to the new star with Miss M‘Whirter, who, though 
an old favourite, had lost her upper notes and her front teeth, and, 
the fact was, drew no longer. 

Directly Sir George heard Mrs. Walker, he tapped Podmore, who 
accompanied her, on the waistcoat, and said, “ Poddy, thank you ; 
we’ll cut the orange boy’s throat with that voice.” It was by the 
familiar title of orange boy that the great Baroski was known among 
his opponents. 

“ We’ll crush him, Podmore,” said Lady Thrum, in her deep 
hollow voice. “You may stop and dine.” And Podmore stayed to 
dinner, and ate cold mutton, and drank Marsala with the greatest 
reverence for the great English composer. The very next day Lady 
Thrum hired a pair of horses, and paid a visit to Mrs. Crump and 
her daughter at “ Sadler’s Wells.” 

All these things were kept profoundly secret from Walker, who 
received very magnanimously the allowance of two guineas a week 
which Woolsey made him, and with the aid of the few shillings his 
wife could bring him, managed to exist as best he might. He did 
not dislike gin when he could get no claret, and the former liquor, 
under the name of “ tape,” used to be measured out pretty liberally 
in what was formerly her Majesty’s prison of the Fleet. 

Morgiana pursued her studies under Thrum, and we shall hear in 
the next chapter how it was she changed her name to Ravenswing. 


CHAPTER VII 


IN WHICH MORGIANA ADVANCES TOWARDS FAME AND HONOUR , 
AND IN WHICH SEVERAL GREAT LITERARY CHARACTERS 
MAKE THEIR APPEARANCE 

W E must begin, my dear madam,” said Sir George Thrum, 
“by unlearning all that Mr. Baroski (of whom I do 
not wish to speak with the slightest disrespect) has 
taught you ! ” 

Morgiana knew that every professor says as much, and sub- 
mitted to undergo the study requisite for Sir George’s system with 
perfect good grace. Au fond , as I was given to understand, the 
methods of the two artists were pretty similar; but as there was 
rivalry between them, and continual desertion of scholars from one 
school to another, it was fair for each to take all the credit he could 
get in the success of any pupil. If a pupil failed, for instance, 
Thrum would say Baroski had spoiled her irretrievably; while the 
German would regret “ Dat dat yong voman, who had a good organ, 
should have trown away her dime wid dat old Drum.” When one 
of these deserters succeeded, “Yes, yes,” would either professor cry, 
“ I formed her ; she owes her fortune to me.” Both of them thus, 
in future days, claimed the education of the famous Ravenswing; 
and even Sir George Thrum, though he wished to ecraser the 
Ligonier, pretended that her present success was his work because 
once she had been brought by her mother, Mrs. Larkins, to sing for 
Sir George’s approval. 

When the two professors met it was with the most delighted 
cordiality on the part of both. “ Mein lieber Herr,” Thrum would 
say (with some malice), “ your sonata in x flat is divine.” 
“Chevalier,” Baroski would reply, “dat andante movement in w 
is worthy of Beethoven. I gif you my sacred honour,” and so forth. 
In fact, they loved each other as gentlemen in their profession 
always do. 

The two famous professors conduct their academies on very 
opposite principles. Baroski writes ballet music; Thrum, on the 
contrary, says “ he cannot but deplore the dangerous fascinations of 
the dance,” and writes more for Exeter. Hall and Birmingham. 
4 2 F 


450 


MEN’S WIVES 


While Baroski drives a cab in the Park with a very suspicious 
Mademoiselle Ldocadie, or Amdnaide, by his side, you may see 
Thrum walking to evening church with his lady, and hymns are 
sung there of his own composition. lie belongs to the “ Athenseum 
Club,” he goes to the Levde once a year, he does everything that a 
respectable man should ; and if, by the means of this respectability, 
he manages to make his little trade far more profitable than it 
otherwise would be, are we to quarrel with him for it ? 

Sir George, in fact, had every reason to be respectable. He 
had been a choir-boy at Windsor, had played to the old King’s 
violoncello, had been intimate with him, and had received knight- 
hood at the hand of his revered sovereign. He had a snuffbox 
which his Majesty gave him, and portraits of him and the young 
princes all over the house. He had also a foreign order (no other, 
indeed, than the Elephant and Castle of Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel), 
conferred upon him by the Grand Duke when here with the allied 
sovereigns in 1814. With this ribbon round his neck, on gala days, 
and in a white waistcoat, the old gentleman looked splendid as he 
moved along in a blue coat with the Windsor button, and neat black 
small-clothes, and silk stockings. He lived in an old tall dingy 
house, furnished in the reign of George III., his beloved master, 
and not much more cheerful now than a family vault. They are 
awfully funereal, those ornaments of the close of the last century 
— tall gloomy horse-hair chairs, mouldy Turkey carpets with 
wretched druggets to guard them, little cracked sticking-plaster 
miniatures of people in tours and pigtails over high-shouldered 
mantelpieces, two dismal urns on each side of a lanky sideboard, 
and in the midst a queer twisted receptacle for worn-out knives 
with green handles. Under the sideboard stands a cellaret that 
looks as if it held half a bottle of currant wine, and a shivering 
plate-warmer that never could get any comfort out of the wretched 
old cramped grate yonder. Don’t you know in such houses the 
grey gloom that hangs over the stairs, the dull-coloured old carpet 
that winds its way up the same, growing thinner, duller, and more 
threadbare as it mounts to the bedroom floors ] There is something 
awful in the bedroom of a respectable old couple of sixty-five. 
Think of the old feathers, turbans, bugles, petticoats, pomatum-pots, 
spencers, white satin shoes, false fronts, the old flaccid boneless 
stays tied up in faded riband, the dusky fans, the old forty-years-old 
baby linen, the letters of Sir George when he was young, the doll 
of poor Maria who died in 1803, Frederick’s first corduroy breeches, 
and the newspaper which contains the account of his distinguishing 
himself at the siege of Seringapatam. All these lie somewhere, 
damp and squeezed down into glum old presses and wardrobes. At 


451 


THE KAVEHSWING 

that glass the wife has sat many times these fifty years; in that 
old morocco bed her children were born. Where are they now 1 
Fred the brave captain, and Charles the saucy colleger : there 
hangs a drawing of him done by Mr. Beechey, and that sketch by 
Cosway was the very likeness of Louisa before 

“ Mr. Fitz-Boodle ! for Heaven’s sake come down. What are 
you doing in a lady’s bedroom 1 ” 

“ The fact is, madam, I had no business there in life ; but, 
having had quite enough wine with Sir George, my thoughts had 
wandered upstairs into the sanctuary of female excellence, where 
your Ladyship nightly reposes. You do not sleep so well now as 
in old days, though there is no patter of little steps to wake you 
overhead.” 

They call that room the nursery still, and the little wicket still 
hangs at the upper stairs : it has been there for forty years — bon 
Dieu ! Can’t you see the ghosts of little faces peering over it 1 
I wonder whether they get up in the night as the moonlight shines 
into the blank vacant old room, and play there solemnly with little 
ghostly horses, and the spirits of dolls, and tops that turn and turn 
but don’t hum. 

Once more, sir, come down to the lower storey — that is to the 
Morgiana story — with which the above sentences have no more to 
do than this morning’s leading article in The Times ; only it was at 
this house of Sir George Thrum’s that I met Morgiana. Sir George, 
in old days, had instructed some of the female members of our 
family, and I recollect cutting my fingers as a child with one of 
those attenuated green-handled knives in the queer box yonder. 

In those days Sir George Thrum was the first great musical 
teacher of London, and the royal patronage brought him a great 
number of fashionable pupils, of whom Lady Fitz-Boodle was one. 
It was a long, long time ago : in fact, Sir George Thrum was old 
enough to remember persons who had been present at Mr. Braham’s 
first appearance, and the old gentleman’s days of triumph had been 
those of Billington and Incledon, Catalani and Madame Storace. 

He was the author of several operas (“ The Camel Driver,” 
“Britons Alarmed; or, the Siege of Bergen-op-Zoom,” &c. &c.), 
and, of course, of songs which had considerable success in their day, 
but are forgotten now, and are as much faded and out of fashion as 
those old carpets which we have described in the professor’s house, 
and which were, doubtless, very brilliant once. But such is the 
fate of carpets, of flowers, of music, of men, and of the most 
admirable novels — even this story will not be alive for many 
centuries. Well, well, why struggle against Fate ? 

But, though his heyday of fashion was gone, Sir George still held 


452 


MEN’S WIVES 


his "place among the musicians of the old school, conducted occa- 
sionally at the Ancient Concerts and the Philharmonic, and his 
glees are still favourites after public dinners, and are sung by those 
old bacchanalians, in chestnut wigs, who attend for the purpose of 
amusing the guests on such occasions of festivity. The great old 
people at the gloomy old concerts before mentioned always pay Sir 
George marked respect; and, indeed, from the old gentleman’s 
peculiar behaviour to his superiors, it is impossible they should not 
be delighted with him, so he leads at almost every one of the 
concerts in the old-fashioned houses in town. 

Becomingly obsequious to his superiors, he is with the rest of 
the world properly majestic, and has obtained no small success by 
his admirable and undeviating respectability. Respectability has 
been his great card through life ; ladies can trust their daughters 
at Sir George Thrum’s academy. “ A good musician, madam,” 
says he to the mother of a new pupil, “should not only have a 
fine ear, a good voice, and an indomitable industry, but, above all, 
a faultless character — faultless, that is, as far as our poor nature 
will permit. And you will remark that those young persons with 
whom your lovely daughter, Miss Smith, will pursue her musical 
studies, are all, in a moral point of view, as spotless as that charm- 
ing young lady. How should it be otherwise 1 I have been myself 
the father of a family ; I have been honoured with the intimacy of 
the wisest and best of kings, my late sovereign George III., and 
I can proudly show an example of decorum to my pupils in my 
Sophia. Mrs. Smith, I have the honour of introducing to you 
my Lady Thrum.” 

The old lady would rise at this, and make a gigantic curtsey, 
such a one as had begun the minuet at Ranelagh fifty years ago ; 
and, the introduction ended, Mrs. Smith would retire, after having 
seen the portraits of the princes, his late Majesty’s snuffbox, and 
a piece of music which he used to play, noted by himself — Mrs. 
Smith, I say, would drive back to Baker Street, delighted to think 
that her Frederica had secured so eligible and respectable a master. 
I forgot to say that, during the interview between Mrs. Smith and 
Sir George, the latter would be called out of his study by his black 
servant, and my Lady Thrum would take that opportunity of 
mentioning when he was knighted, and how he got his foreign 
order, and deploring the sad condition of other musical professors, 
and the dreadful immorality which sometimes arose in consequence 
of their laxness. Sir George was a good deal engaged to dinners in 
the season, and if invited to dine with a nobleman, as he might 
possibly be on the day when Mrs. Smith requested the honour of 
his company, he would write back “ that he should have had the 


THE RAVENSWING 


453 


sincerest happiness in waiting upon Mrs. Smith in Baker Street, 
if, previously, my Lord Tweedledale had not been so kind as to 
engage him.” This letter, of course, shown by Mrs. Smith to her 
friends, was received by them with proper respect; and thus, in 
spite of age and new fashions, Sir George still reigned pre-eminent 
for a mile round Cavendish Square. By the young pupils of the 
academy he was called Sir Charles Grandison; and, indeed, fully 
deserved this title on account of the indomitable respectability of 
his whole actions. 

It was under this gentleman that Morgiana made her debut in 
public life. I do not know what arrangements may have been 
made between Sir George Thrum and his pupil regarding the 
profits which were to accrue to the former from engagements pro- 
cured by him for the latter ; but there was, no doubt, an under- 
standing between them. For Sir George, respectable as he was, 
had the reputation of being extremely clever at a bargain ; ami 
Lady Thrum herself, in her great high-tragedy way, could purchase 
a pair of soles or select a leg of mutton with the best housekeeper 
in London. 

When, however, Morgiana had been for some six months under 
his tuition, he began, for some reason or other, to be exceedingly 
hospitable, and invited his friends to numerous entertainments : at 
one of which, as I have said, I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. 
Walker. 

Although the worthy musician’s dinners were not good, the old 
knight had some excellent wine in his cellar, and his arrangement 
of his party deserves to be commended. 

For instance, he meets me and Bob Fitz-Urse in Pall Mall, at 
whose paternal house he was also a visitor. “ My dear young gentle- 
men,” says he, “ will you come and dine with a poor musical com- 
poser 1 I have some Comet hock, and, what is more curious to 
you, perhaps, as men of wit, one or two of the great literary char- 
acters of London whom you would like to see — quite curiosities, 
my dear young friends.” And we agreed to go. 

To the literary men he says : “I have a little quiet party at 
home : Lord Roundtowers, the Honourable Mr. Fitz-Urse of the 
Life Guards, and a few more. Can you tear yourself away from 
the war of wits, and take a quiet dinner with a few mere men 
about town % ” 

The literary men instantly purchase new satin stocks and white 
gloves, and are delighted to fancy themselves members of the world 
of fashion. Instead of inviting twelve Royal Academicians, or a 
dozen authors, or a dozen men of science to dinner, as his Grace the 
Duke of and the Right Honourable Sir Robert are in the 


454 


MEN’S WIVES 


habit of doing once a year, this plan of fusion is the one they 
should adopt. Not invite all artists, as they would invite all farmers 
to a rent-dinner; but they should have a proper commingling of 
artists and men of the world. There is one of the latter whose 

name is George Savage Fitz-Boodle, who But let us return to 

Sir George Thrum. 

Fitz-Urse and I arrive at the dismal old house, and are conducted 
up the staircase by a black servant, who shouts out, “ Missa Fiss- 
Boodle — the Honourable Missa Fiss-Urse ! ” It was evident that 
Lady Thrum had instructed the swarthy groom of the chambers (for 
there is nothing particularly honourable in my friend Fitz’s face 
that I know of, unless an abominable squint may be said to be so). 
Lady Thrum, whose figure is something like that of the shot-tower 
opposite Waterloo Bridge, makes a majestic inclination and a speech 
to signify her pleasure at receiving under her roof two of the children 
of Sir George’s best pupils. A lady in black velvet is seated by the 
old fireplace, with whom a stout gentleman in an exceedingly light 
coat and ornamental waistcoat is talking very busily. “ The great 
star of the night,” whispers our host. “Mrs. Walker, gentlemen — 
the Ravenswing ! She is talking to the famous Mr. Slang, of the 
Theatre.” 

“Is she a fine singer?” says Fitz-Urse. “She’s a very fine 
woman.” 

“ My dear young friends, you shall hear to-night ! I, who have 
heard every fine voice in Europe, confidently pledge my respecta- 
bility that the Ravenswing is equal to them all. She has the 
graces, sir, of a Venus with the mind of a Muse. She is a siren, 
sir, without the dangerous qualities of one. She is hallowed, sir, 
by her misfortunes as by her genius ; and I am proud to think that 
my instructions have been the means of developing the wondrous 
qualities that were latent within her until now.” 

“You don’t say so ! ” says gobemouche Fitz-Urse. 

Having thus indoctrinated Mr. Fitz-Urse, Sir George takes 
another of his guests, and proceeds to work upon him. “ My dear 
Mr. Bludyer, how do you do? Mr. Fitz-Boodle, Mr. Bludyer, the 
brilliant and accomplished wit, whose sallies in the Tomahawk 
delight us every Saturday. Nay, no blushes, my dear sir ; you are 
very wicked, but oh ! so pleasant. Well, Mr. Bludyer, I am glad 
to see you, sir, and hope you will have a favourable opinion of our 
genius, sir. As I was saying to Mr. Fitz-Boodle, she has the graces 
of a Venus with the mind of a Muse. She is a siren, without the 
dangerous qualities of one,” &c. This little speech was made to 
half-a-dozen persons in the course of the evening — persons, for the 
most part, connected with the public journals or the theatrical world. 










PREPARING FOR A GKBUT 




















































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455 


THE RAVENSWING 

There was Mr. Squinny, the editor of the Flowers of Fashion; 
Mr. Desmond Mulligan, the poet, and reporter for a morning paper ; 
and other worthies of their calling. For though Sir George is a 
respectable man, and as high-minded and moral an old gentleman 
as ever wore knee-buckles, he does not neglect the little arts of 
popularity, and can condescend to receive very queer company if 
need be. 

For instance, at the dinner-party at which I had the honour of 
assisting, and at which, on the right hand of Lady Thrum, sat the 
obligd nobleman, whom the Thrums were a great deal too wise to 
omit (the sight of a lord does good to us commoners, or why else 
should we be so anxious to have one V). In the second place of 
honour, and on her ladyship’s left hand, sat Mr. Slang, the manager 
of one of the theatres ; a gentleman whom my Lady Thrum would 
scarcely, but for a great necessity’s sake, have been induced to 
invite to her table. He had the honour of leading Mrs. Walker to 
dinner, who looked splendid in black velvet and turban, full of health 
and smiles. 

Lord Roundtowers is an old gentleman who has been at the 
theatres five times a week for these fifty years, a living dictionary of 
the stage, recollecting every actor and actress who has appeared upon 
it for half a century. He perfectly well remembered Miss Delaney 
in Morgiana; he knew what had become of Ali Baba, and how 
Cassini had left the stage, and was now the keeper of a public- 
house. All this store of knowledge he kept quietly to himself, or 
only delivered in confidence to his next neighbour in the intervals of 
the banquet, which he enjoys prodigiously. He lives at an hotel : 
if not invited to dine, eats a mutton-chop very humbly at his club, 
and finishes his evening after the play at Crockford’s, whither he 
goes not for the sake of the play, but of the supper there. He is 
described in the Court Guide as of “ Simmer’s Hotel,” and of Round- 
towers, county Cork. It is said that the round towers really exist. 
But he has not been in Ireland since the rebellion ; and his property 
is so hampered with ancestral mortgages, and rent-charges, and 
annuities, that his income is barely sufficient to provide the modest 
mutton-chop before alluded to. He has, any time these fifty years, 
lived in the wickedest company in London, and is, withal, as harmless, 
mild, good-natured, innocent an old gentleman as can readily be seen. 

“ Roundy,” shouts the elegant Mr. Slang, across the table, with 
a voice which makes Lady Thrum shudder, “ Tuff, a glass of wine.” 

My Lord replies meekly, “Mr. Slang, I shall have very much 
pleasure. What shall it be ? ” 

“ There is madeira near you, my Lord,” says my Lady, pointing 
to a tall thin decanter of the fashion of the year. 


456 MEN’S WIVES 

*“ Madeira ! marsala, by Jove, your Ladyship means ! ” shouts 
Mr. Slang. “No, no, old birds are not caught with chaff. Thrum, 
old boy, let’s have some of your Comet hock.” 

“ My Lady Thrum, I believe that is marsala,” says the knight, 
blushing a little, in reply to a question from his Sophia. “ Ajax, 
the hock to Mr. Slang.” 

“ I’m in that,” yells Bludyer from the end of the table. “ My 
Lord, I’ll join you.” 

“ Mr. , I beg your pardon — I shall be very happy to take 

wine with you, sir.” 

“It is Mr. Bludyer, the celebrated newspaper writer,” whispers 
Lady Thrum. 

“Bludyer, Bludyer? A very clever man, I dare say. He has 
a very loud voice, and reminds me of Brett. Does your Ladyship 
remember Brett, who played the ‘ Fathers ’ at the Hay market 
in 1802?” 

“ What an old stupid Roundtowers is ! ” says Slang archly, 
nudging Mrs. Walker in the side. “How’s Walker, eh?” 

“ My husband is in the country,” replied Mrs. Walker 
hesitatingly. 

“ Gammon ! I know where he is ! Law bless you ! — don’t blush. 
I’ve been there myself a dozen times. We were talking about quod, 
Lady Thrum. Were you ever in college?” 

“I was at the Commemoration at Oxford in 1814, when the 
sovereigns were there, and at Cambridge when Sir George received 
his degree of Doctor of Music.” 

“ Laud, Laud, that’s not the college we mean.” 

“There is also the college in Gower Street, where my grand- 


“ This is the college in Queer Street , ma’am, haw, haw ! Mul- 
ligan, you divvle (in an Irish accent), a glass of wine with you. 
Wine, here, you waiter! What’s your name, you black nigger? 
’Possum up a gum-tree, eh ? Fill him up. Dere he go ” (imitating 
the Mandingo manner of speaking English). 

In this agreeable way would Mr. Slang rattle on, speedily making 
himself the centre of the conversation, and addressing graceful famili- 
arities to all the gentlemen and ladies round him. 

It was good to see how the little knight, the most moral and 
calm of men, was compelled to receive Mr. Slang’s stories, and the 
frightened air with which, at the conclusion of one of them, he 
would venture upon a commendatory grin. His lady, on her part 
too, had been laboriously civil ; and, on the occasion on which I had 
the honour of meeting this gentleman and Mrs. Walker, it was the 
latter who gave the signal for withdrawing to the lady of the house, 


THE RAVENSWING 457 

by saying, “ I think, Lady Thrum, it is quite time for us to retire.” 
Some exquisite joke of Mr. Slang’s was the cause of this abrupt 
disappearance. But, as they went upstairs to the drawing-room, 
Lady Thrum took occasion to say, “ My dear, in the course of your 
profession you will have to submit to many such familiarities on the 
part of persons of low breeding, such as I fear Mr. Slang is. But 
let me caution you against giving way to your temper as you did. 
Did you not perceive that / never allowed him to see my inward 
dissatisfaction ? And I make it a particular point that you should 
be very civil to him to-night. Your interests — our interests depend 
upon it.” 

“ And are my interests to make me civil to a wretch like that 1 ” 

“ Mrs. Walker, would you wish to give lessons in morality and 
behaviour to Lady Thrum 1 ” said the old lady, drawing herself up 
with great dignity. It was evident that she had a very strong desire 
indeed to conciliate Mr. Slang ; and hence I have no doubt that Sir 
George was to have a considerable share of Morgiana’s earnings. 

Mr. Bludyer, the famous editor of the Tomahawk , whose jokes 
Sir George pretended to admire so much (Sir George who never made 
a joke in his life), was a press bravo of considerable talent and no 
principle, and who, to use his own words, would “ back himself for a 
slashing article against any man in England ! ” He would not only 
write, but fight on a pinch ; was a good scholar, and as savage in his 
manner as with his pen. Mr. Squinny is of exactly the opposite 
school, as delicate as milk-and-water, harmless in his habits, fond of 
the flute when the state of his chest will allow him, a great practiser 
of waltzing and dancing in general, and in his journal mildly mali- 
cious. He never goes beyond the bounds of politeness, but manages 
to insinuate a great deal that is. disagreeable to an author in the course 
of twenty lines of criticism. Personally he is quite respectable, and 
lives with two maiden aunts at Brompton. Nobody, on the contrary, 
knows where Mr. Bludyer lives. He has houses of call, mysterious 
taverns where he may be found at particular hours by those who 
need him, and where panting publishers are in the habit of hunting 
him up. For a bottle of wine and a guinea he will write a page of 
praise or abuse of any man living, or on any subject, or on any line 
of politics. “ Hang it, sir ! ” says he, “ pay me enough and I will 
write down my own father ! ” According to the state of his credit, 
he is dressed either almost in rags or else in the extremest flush of 
the fashion. With the latter attire he puts on a haughty and aristo- 
cratic air, and would slap a duke on the shoulder. If there is one 
thing more dangerous than to refuse to lend him a sum of money 
when he asks for it, it is to lend it to him ; for he never pays, and 
never pardons a man to whom he owes. Walker refused to cash a 


458 


MEN’S WIVES 


bill for me,” lie had been heard to say, “ and I’ll do for his wife when 
she comes out on the stage ! ” Mrs. Walker and Sir George Thrum 
were in an agony about the Tomahawk ; hence the latter’s invita- 
tion to Mr. Bludyer. Sir George was in a great tremor about the 
Floioers of Fashion ; hence his invitation to Mr. Squinny. Mr. 
Squinny was introduced to Lord Roundtowers and Mr. Fitz-Urse 
as one of the most delightful and talented of our young men of 
genius; and Fitz, who believes everything any one tells him, was 
quite pleased to have the honour of sitting near the live editor of a 
paper. I have reason to think that Mr. Squinny himself was no less 
delighted : I saw him giving his card to Fitz-Urse at the end of the 
second course. 

No particular attention was paid to Mr. Desmond Mulligan. 
Political enthusiasm is his forte. He lives and writes in a rapture. 
He is, of course, a member of an inn of court, and greatly addicted 
to after-dinner speaking as a preparation for the bar, where as a 
young man of genius he hopes one day to shine. He is almost the 
only man to whom Bludyer is civil; for, if the latter will fight 
doggedly when there is a necessity for so doing, the former fights like 
an Irishman, and has a pleasure in it. He has been “ on the ground ” 
I don’t know how many times, and quitted his country on account 
of a quarrel with Government regarding certain articles published by 
him in the Phoenix newspaper. With the third bottle, he becomes 
overpoweringly great on the wrongs of Ireland, and at that period 
generally volunteers a couple or more of Irish melodies, selecting the 
most melancholy in the collection. At five in the afternoon, you 
are sure to see him about the House of Commons, and he knows the 
“ Reform Club ” (he calls it the Refawrum) as well as if he were a 
member. It is curious for the contemplative mind to mark those 
mysterious hangers-on of Irish Members of Parliament — strange 
runners and aides-de-camp which all the honourable gentlemen appear 
to possess. Desmond, in his political capacity, is one of these, and 
besides his calling as reporter to a newspaper, is “ our well-informed 
correspondent ” of that famous Munster paper, the Green Flag of 
Skibbereen. 

With Mr. Mulligan’s qualities and history I only became subse- 
quently acquainted. On the present evening he made but a brief 
stay at the dinner-table, being compelled by his professional duties 
to attend to the House of Commons. 

The above formed the party with whom I had the honour to 
dine. What other repasts Sir George Thrum may have given, 
what assemblies of men of mere science he may have invited 
to give their opinion regarding his prodigy, what other editors of 
papers he may have pacified or rendered favourable, who knows? 


THE RAVENSWING 459 

On the present occasion, we did not quit the dinner-table until 
Mr. Slang the manager was considerably excited by wine, and 
music had been heard for some time in the drawing-room overhead 
during our absence. An addition had been made to the Thrum 
party by the arrival of several persons to spend the evening, — a 
man to play on the violin between the singing, a youth to play on 
the piano, Miss Horseman to sing with Mrs. Walker, and other 
scientific characters. In a corner sat a red-faced old lady, of 
whom the mistress of the mansion took little notice ; and a gen- 
tleman with a royal button, who blushed and looked exceedingly 
modest. 

“ Hang me ! ” says Mr. Bludyer, who had perfectly good reasons 
for recognising Mr. Woolsey, and who on this day chose to assume 
his aristocratic air ; “ there’s a tailor in the room ! What do they 
mean by asking me to meet tradesmen ? ” 

“Delaney, my dear,” cries Slang, entering the room with a 
reel, “ how’s your precious health 1 Give us your hand ! When 
are we to be married? Make room for me on the sofa, that’s 
a duck ! ” 

“ Get along, Slang,” says Mrs. Crump, addressed by the 
manager by her maiden name (artists generally drop the title of 
honour which people adopt in the world, and call each other by 
their simple surnames) — “ get along, Slang, or I’ll tell Mrs. S. ! ” 
The enterprising manager replies by sportively striking Mrs. 
Crump on the side a blow which causes a great giggle from 
the lady insulted, and a most good-humoured threat to box 
Slang’s ears. I fear very much that Morgiana’s mother thought 
Mr. Slang an exceedingly gentlemanlike and agreeable person ; be- 
sides, she was eager to have his good opinion of Mrs. Walker’s 
singing. 

The manager stretched himself out with much gracefulness on 
the sofa, supporting two little dumpy legs encased in varnished 
boots on a chair. 

“ Ajax, some tea to Mr. Slang,” said my Lady, looking towards 
that gentleman with a countenance expressive of some alarm, I 
thought. 

“ That’s right, Ajax, my black prince ! ” exclaimed Slang, when 
the negro brought the required refreshment ; “ and now I suppose 
you’ll be wanted in the orchestra yonder. Don’t Ajax play the 
cymbals, Sir George ? ” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! very good — capital ! ” answered the knight, 
exceedingly frightened ; “ but ours is not a military band. Miss 
Horseman, Mr. Craw, my dear Mrs. Ravenswing, shall we begin 
the trio ? Silence, gentlemen, if you please ; it is a little piece 


MEN’S WIVES 


46‘0 

from my opera of the ‘ Brigand’s Bride.’ Miss Horseman takes 
the Page’s part, Mr. Craw is Stiletto the Brigand, my accomplished 
pupil is the Bride ; ” and the music began. 

“the bride. 

My heart with joy is beating, 

My eyes with tears are dim ; 

THE PAGE. 

Her heart with joy is beating 
Her eyes are fixed on him ; 


THE BRIGAND. 

My heart with rage is beating, 

In blood my eyeballs swim ! ” 

What may have been the merits of the music or the singing, 
I, of course, cannot guess. Lady Thrum sat opposite the tea-cups, 
nodding her head and beating time very gravely. Lord Round- 
towers, by her side, nodded his head too, for a while, and then fell 
asleep. I should have done the same but for the manager, whose 
actions were worthy of remark. He sang with all the three 
singers, and a great deal louder than any of them; he shouted 
bravo ! or hissed as he thought proper ; he criticised all the 
points of Mrs. Walker’s person. “ She’ll do, Crump, she’ll do — 
a splendid arm — you’ll see her eyes in the shilling gallery ! What 
sort of a foot has she ? She’s five feet three, if she’s an inch ! 
Bravo — slap up — capital — hurrah ! ” And he concluded by saying, 
with the aid of the Ravenswing, he would put Ligonier’s nose 
out of joint ! 

The enthusiasm of Mr. Slang almost reconciled Lady Thrum 
to the abruptness of his manners, and even caused Sir George to 
forget that his chorus had been interrupted by the obstreperous 
familiarity of the manager. 

“And what do you think, Mr. Bludyer,” said the tailor, de- 
lighted that his protegee should be thus winning all hearts : “ isn’t 
Mrs. Walker a tiptop singer, eh, sir 1 ?” 

“ I think she’s a very bad one, Mr. Woolsey,” said the illustrious 
author, wishing to abbreviate all communications with a tailor to 
whom he owed forty pounds. 

“ Then, sir,” says Mr. Woolsey fiercely, “ I’ll — I’ll thank you 
to pay me my little bill ! ” 

It is true there was no connection between Mrs. Walker’s sing- 


THE RAVENSWING 


461 


in g and Woolsey’s little bill; that the “ Then, sir,” was perfectly 
illogical on Woolsey’s part; but it was a very happy hit for the 
future fortunes of Mrs. Walker. Who knows what would have 
come of her debut but for that “Then, sir,” and whether a 
“smashing article” from the Tomahawk might not have ruined 
her for ever ? 

“Are you a relation of Mrs. Walker’s?” said Mr. Bludyer, in 
reply to the angry tailor. 

“ What’s that to you, whether I am or not ? ” replied Woolsey 
fiercely. “But I’m the friend of Mrs. Walker, sir; proud am I 
to say so, sir ; and, as the poet says, sir, ‘ a little learning’s a 
dangerous thing,’ sir ; and I think a man who don’t pay his bills 
may keep his tongue quiet at least, sir, and not abuse a lady, sir, 
whom everybody else praises, sir. You shan’t humbug me any more, 
sir ; you shall hear from my attorney to-morrow, so mark that ! ” 

“ Hush, my dear Mr. Woolsey,” cried the literary man, “ don’t 
make a noise ; come into this window : is Mrs. Walker really a 
friend of yours ? ” 

“ I’ve told you so, sir.” 

“Well, in that case, I shall do my utmost to serve her; and, 
look you, Woolsey, any article you choose to send about her to the 
Tomahawk I promise you I’ll put in.” 

“ Will you, though? then we’ll say nothing about the little 
bill.” 

“You may do on that point,” answered Bludyer haughtily, 
“ exactly as you please. I am not to be frightened from my duty, 
mind that ; and mind, too, that I can write a slashing article better 
than any man in England : I could crush her by ten lines.” 

The tables were now turned, and it was Woolsey’s turn to be 
alarmed. 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! I was angry,” said he, “ because you abused 
Mrs. Walker, who’s an angel on earth; but I’m very willing to 
apologise. I say — come — let me take your measure for some new 
clothes, eh ! Mr. B. ? ” 

“ I’ll come to your shop,” answered the literary man, quite 
appeased. “ Silence ! they’re beginning another song.” 

The songs, which I don’t attempt to describe (and, upon my 
word and honour, as far as I can understand matters, I believe to 
this day that Mrs. Walker was only an ordinary singer) — the songs 
lasted a great deal longer than I liked ; but I was nailed, as it were, 
to the spot, having agreed to sup at Knightsbridge barracks with 
Fitz-Urse, who carriage was ordered at eleven o’clock. 

“My dear Mr. Fitz-Boodle,” said our old host to me, “you can 
do me the greatest service in the world.” 


462 


MEN’S WIVES 


“ Speak, sir ! ” said I. 

“ Will you ask your honourable and gallant friend, the Captain, 
to drive home Mr. Squinny to Brompton ? ” 

“ Can’t Mr. Squinny get a cab ? ” 

Sir George looked particularly arch. “Generalship, my dear 
young friend — a little harmless generalship. Mr. Squinny will not 
give much for my opinion of my pupil, but he will value very 
highly the opinion of the Honourable Mr. Fitz-Urse.” 

For a moral man, was not the little knight a clever fellow? 
He had bought Mr. Squinny for a dinner worth ten shillings, and 
for a ride in a carriage with a lord’s son. Squinny was carried 
to Brompton, and set down at his aunts’ door, delighted with his 
new friends, and exceedingly sick with a cigar they had made him 
smoke. 


CHAPTER VIII 


IN WHICH MR. WALKER SHOWS GREAT PRUDENCE AND 
FORBEARANCE 

T HE describing of all these persons does not advance Morgiana’s 
story much. But, perhaps, some country readers are not 
acquainted with the class of persons by whose printed opinions 
they are guided, and are simple enough to imagine that mere merit 
will make a reputation on the stage or elsewhere. The making of 
a theatrical success is a much more complicated and curious thing 
than such persons fancy it to be. Immense are the pains taken to 
get a good word from Mr. This of the Star , or Mr. That of the 
Courier , to propitiate the favour of the critic of the day, and get 
the editors of the metropolis into a good humour, — above all, to 
have the name of the person to be puffed perpetually before the 
public. Artists cannot be advertised like Macassar oil or blacking, 
and they want it to the full as much ; hence endless ingenuity 
must be practised in order to keep the popular attention awake. 
Suppose a great actor moves from London to Windsor, the Brentford 
Champion must state, that “Yesterday Mr. Blazes and suite 
passed rapidly through our city ; the celebrated comedian is engaged, 
we hear, at Windsor, to give some of his inimitable readings of our 
great national bard to the most illustrious audience in the realm.” 
This piece of intelligence the Hammersmith Observer will ques- 
tion the next week, as thus : — “ A contemporary, the Brentford 
Champion, says that Blazes is engaged to give Shakspearian readings 
at Windsor to ‘the most illustrious audience in the realm.’ We 
question this fact very much. We would, indeed, that it were 
true ; but the most illustrious audience in the realm prefer foreign 
melodies to the native wood-notes wild of the sweet song-bird of 
Avon. Mr. Blazes is simply gone to Eton, where his son, Master 
Massinger Blazes, is suffering, we regret to hear, under a severe 
attack of the chicken-pox. This complaint (incident to youth) has 
raged, we understand, with frightful virulence in Eton School.” 

And if, after the above paragraphs, some London paper chooses 
to attack the folly of the provincial press, which talks of Mr. Blazes, 
and chronicles his movements, as if he were a crowned head, what 


464 


MEN’S WIVES 


harm is done ? Blazes can write in his own name to the London 
journal, and say that it is not his fault if provincial journals choose 
to chronicle his movements, and that he was far from wishing that 
the afflictions of those who are dear to him should form the subject 
of public comment, and be held up to public ridicule. “We had 
no intention of hurting the feelings of an estimable public servant,” 
writes the editor; “and our remarks on the chicken-pox were 
general, not personal. We sincerely trust that Master Massinger 
Blazes has recovered from that complaint, and that he may pass 
through the measles, the whooping-cough, the fourth form, and all 
other diseases to which youth is subject, with comfort to himself, 
and credit to his parents and teachers.” At his next appearance on 
the stage after this controversy, a British public calls for Blazes 
three times after the play ; and somehow there is sure to be some 
one with a laurel-wreath in a stage-box, who flings that chaplet at 
the inspired artist’s feet. 

I don’t know how it was, but before the debut of Morgiana, the 
English press began to heave and throb in a convulsive manner, as 
if indicative of the near birth of some great thing. For instance, 
you read in one paper : — 

Anecdote of Karl Maria Von Weber. — When the author of 
‘ Oberon ’ was in England, he was invited by a noble duke to dinner, 
and some of the most celebrated of our artists were assembled to 
meet him. The signal being given to descend to the salle-a- 
manger, the German composer was invited by his noble host (a 
bachelor) to lead the way. ‘ Is it not the fashion in your country,’ 
said he simply, ‘ for the man of the first eminence to take the first 
place ? Here is one whose genius entitles him to be first anywhere .’ 
And, so saying, he pointed to our admirable English composer, Sir 
George Thrum. The two musicians were friends to the last, and 
Sir George has still the identical piece of rosin which the author of 
the £ Freischutz ’ gave him.” — The Moon (morning paper), June 2. 

“ George III. a Composer. — Sir George Thrum has in his pos- 
session the score of an air, the words from ‘ Samson Agonistes,’ an 
autograph of the late revered monarch. We hear that that excellent 
composer has in store for us not only an opera, but a pupil, with 
whose transcendent merits the dlite of our aristocracy are already 
familiar.” — Ibid., June 5. 

“ Music with a Vengeance. — The march to the sound of which 
the 49th and 75th regiments rushed up the breach of Badajoz was 
the celebrated air from ‘ Britons Alarmed ; or, The Siege of Bergen- 


THE RAVENSWING 465 

op-Zoom,’ by our famous English composer, Sir George Thrum. 
Marshal Davoust said that the French line never stood when that 
air was performed to the charge of the bayonet. We hear the 
veteran musician has an opera now about to appear, and have no 
doubt that Old England will now, as then, show its superiority 
over all foreign opponents.” — Albion . 

“We have been accused of preferring the produit of the etr anger 
to the talent of our own native shores ; but those who speak so, 
little know us. We are fanatici per la musica wherever it be, and 
welcome merit dans chaque pays du monde. What do we say ] Le 
merite n’a point de pays, as Napoleon said ; and Sir George Thrum 
(Chevalier de l’Ordre de l’Eldphant et Chateau de Kalbsbraten- 
Pumpernickel) is a maestro whose fame appartient a V Europe. 

“We have just heard the lovely eleve, whose rare qualities the 
Cavaliere has brought to perfection, — we have heard The Ravens ■ 
wing (pourquoi cacher un nom que demain un monde va saluer .?), 
and a creature more beautiful and gifted never bloomed before dans 
nos climats. She sang the delicious duet of the ‘ Nabucodonosore,’ 
witli Count Pizzicato, with a bellezza, a grandezza, a raggio, that 
excited tn the bosom of the audience a corresponding furore : her 
scherzando was exquisite, though we confess we thought the con- 
cluding Jioritura in the passage in y flat a leetle, a very leetle 
sforzata. Surely the words, 

‘ Giorno d’orrore, 

Delire, dolore, 

N abucodonosore, ’ 

should be given andante, and not con strepito : but this is a faute 
bien legere in the midst of such unrivalled excellence, and only 
mentioned here that we may have something to criticise. 

“We hear that the enterprising impresario of one of the 
royal theatres has made an engagement with the Diva; and, if we 
have a regret, it is that she should be compelled to sing in the 
unfortunate language of our rude northern clime, which does not 
preter itself near so well to the bocca of the cantatrice as do the 
mellifluous accents of the Lingua Toscana, the langue par excellence 
of song. 

“ The Ravenswing’s voice is a magnificent contra-basso of nine 
octaves,” &c. — Flowers of Fashion, June 10. 

“Old Thrum, the composer, is bringing out an opera and a 
pupil. The opera is good, the pupil first-rate. The opera will do 
much more than compete with the infernal twaddle and disgusting 


466 


MEN’S WIVES 


slip-slop of Donizetti, and the milk-and-water fools who imitate 
him : it will (and we ask the readers of the Tomahawk , were we 
ever mistaken ?) surpass all these : it is good , of downright English 
stuff. The airs are fresh and pleasing, the choruses large and noble, 
the instrumentation solid and rich, the music is carefully written. 
We wish old Thrum and his opera well. 

“ His pupil is a sure card, a splendid woman, and a splendid 
singer. She is so handsome that she might sing as much out of 
tune as Miss Ligonier, and the public would forgive her ; and sings 
so well, that were she as ugly as the aforesaid Ligonier, the audience 
would listen to her. The Ravenswing, that is her fantastical 
theatrical name (her real name is the same with that of a notorious 
scoundrel in the Fleet, who invented the Panama swindle, the 
Pontine Marshes swindle, the Soap swindle — how are you off for 
soap now , Mr. W-lk-r ?) — the Ravenswing, we say, will do. Slang 
has engaged her at thirty guineas per week, and she appears next 
month in Thrum’s opera, of which the words are written by a great 
ass with some talent — we mean Mr. Mulligan. 

“There is a foreign fool in the Flowers of Fashion who is 
doing his best to disgust the public by his filthy flattery. It is 
enough to make one sick. Why is the foreign beast not kicked 
out of the paper?” — The Tomahawk , June 17. 

The first three “ anecdotes ” were supplied by Mulligan to his 
paper, witli many others which need not here be repeated : he kept 
them up with amazing energy and variety. Anecdotes of Sir 
George Thrum met you unexpectedly in queer corners of country 
papers : puffs of the English school of music appeared perpetually 
in “Notices to Correspondents” in the Sunday prints, some of 
which Mr. Slang commanded, and in others over which the indefati- 
gable Mulligan had a control. This youth was the soul of the little 
conspiracy for raising Morgiana into fame : and humble as he is, 
and great and respectable as is Sir George Thrum, it is my belief 
that the Ravenswing would never have been the Ravenswing she is 
but for the ingenuity and energy of the honest Hibernian reporter. 

It is only the business of the great man who writes the leading 
articles which appear in the large type of the daily papers to 
compose those astonishing pieces of eloquence; the other parts of 
the paper are left to the ingenuity of the sub-editor, whose duty it 
is to select paragraphs, reject or receive horrid accidents, police 
reports, &c. ; with which, occupied as he is in the exercise of his 
tremendous functions, the editor himself cannot be expected to 
meddle. The fate of Europe is his province ; the rise and fall of 
empires, and the great questions of State, demand the editor’s atten- 


THE RAVENSWING 467 

tion : the humble puff, the paragraph about the last murder, or the 
state of the crops, or the sewers in Chancery Lane, is confided to 
the care of the sub ; and it is curious to see what a prodigious 
number of Irishmen exist among the sub-editors of London. When 
the Liberator enumerates the services of his countrymen, how the 
battle of Fontenoy was won by the Irish Brigade, how the battle 
of Waterloo would have been lost but for the Irish regiments, and 
enumerates other acts for which we are indebted to Milesian heroism 
and genius — he ought at least to mention the Irish brigade of the 
press, and the amazing services they do to this country. 

The truth is, the Irish reporters and soldiers appear to do their 
duty right well ; and my friend Mr. Mulligan is one of the former. 
Having the interests of his opera and the Ravenswing strongly at 
heart, and being amongst his brethren an exceedingly popular fellow, 
he managed matters so that never a day passed but some paragraph 
appeared somewhere regarding the new singer, in whom, for their 
countryman’s sake, all his brothers and sub-editors felt an interest. 

These puffs, destined to make known to all the world the merits 
of the Ravenswing, of course had an effect upon a gentleman very 
closely connected with that lady, the respectable prisoner in the 
Fleet, Captain Walker. As long as he received his weekly two 
guineas from Mr. Woolsey, and the occasional half-crowns which 
his wife could spare in her almost daily visits to him, he had never 
troubled himself to inquire what her pursuits were, and had allowed 
her (though the worthy woman longed with all her might to betray 
herself) to keep her secret. He was far from thinking, indeed, that 
his wife would prove such a treasure to him. 

But when the voice of fame and the columns of the public 
journals brought him each day some new story regarding the merits, 
genius, and beauty of the Ravenswing ; when rumours reached him 
that she was the favourite pupil of Sir George Thrum ; when she 
brought him five guineas after singing at the “Philharmonic” 
(other five the good soul had spent in purchasing some smart new 
cockades, hats, cloaks, and laces for her little son) ; when, finally, 
it was said that Slang, the great manager, offered her an engage- 
ment at thirty guineas per week, Mr. Walker became exceedingly 
interested in his wife’s proceedings, of which he demanded from her 
the fullest explanation. 

Using his marital authority, he absolutely forbade Mrs. Walker’s 
appearance on the public stage ; he wrote to Sir George Thrum a 
letter expressive of his highest indignation that negotiations so 
important should ever have been commenced without his authorisa- 
tion; and he wrote to his dear Slang (for these gentlemen were 
very inti made, and in the course of his transactions as an agent 


468 


MEN’S WIVES 


Mr. \V. had had many dealings with Mr. S.), asking his dear Slang 
whether the latter thought his friend Walker would be so green 
as to allow his wife to appear on the stage, and he remain in prison 
with all his debts on his head ? 

And it was a curious thing now to behold how eager those very 
creditors who but yesterday (and with perfect correctness) had de- 
nounced Mr. Walker as a swindler; who had refused to come to 
any composition with him, and had sworn never to release him ; 
how they on a sudden became quite eager to come to an arrange- 
ment with him, and offered, nay, begged and prayed him to go 
free, — only giving them his own and Mrs. Walker’s acknowledgment 
of their debt, with a promise that a part of the lady’s salary should 
be devoted to the payment of the claim. 

“The lady’s salary!” said Mr. Walker, indignantly, to these 
gentlemen and their attorneys. “ Do you suppose I will allow Mrs. 
Walker to go on the stage? — do you suppose I am such a fool as to 
sign bills to the full amount of these claims against me, when in a 
few months more I can walk out of prison without paying a shilling ? 
Gentlemen, you take Howard Walker for an idiot. I like the Fleet, 
and rather than pay I’ll stay here for these ten years.” 

In other words, it was the Captain’s determination to make 
some advantageous bargain for himself with his creditors and the 
gentlemen who were interested in bringing forward Mrs. Walker on 
the stage. And who can say that in so determining he did not act 
with laudable prudence and justice ? 

“You do not, surely, consider, my very dear sir, that half the 
amount of Mrs. Walker’s salaries is too much for my immense 
trouble and pains in teaching her?” cried Sir George Thrum 
(who, in reply to Walker’s note, thought it most prudent to wait 
personally on that gentleman). “ Remember that I am the first 
master in England ; that I have the best interest in England ; that 
I can bring her out at the Palace, and at every concert and musical 
festival in England; that I am obliged to teach her every single 
note that she utters ; and that without me she could no more sing 
a song than her little baby could walk without its nurse.” 

“ I believe about half what you say,” said Mr. Walker. 

“ My dear Captain Walker ! would you question my integrity ? 
Who was it that made Mrs. Millington’s fortune, — the celebrated 
Mrs. Millington, who has now got a hundred thousand pounds? 
Who was it that brought out the finest tenor in Europe, Poppleton ? 
Ask the musical world, ask those great artists themselves, and they 
will tell you they owe their reputation, their fortune, to Sir George 
Thrum.” 

“It is very likely,” replied the Captain coolly, “You are a 


THE RAVENSWING 


469 

good master, I dare say, Sir George ; but I am not going to article 
Mrs. Walker to you for three years, and sign her articles in the 
Fleet. Mrs. Walker shan’t sing till I’m a free man, that’s flat : if 
I stay here till you’re dead she shan’t.” 

“ Gracious powers, sir ! ” exclaimed Sir George, “ do you expect 
me to pay your debts 1 ” 

“ Yes, old boy,” answered the Captain, “ and to give me some- 
thing handsome in hand, too ; and that’s my ultimatum : and so 
I wish you good morning, for I’m engaged to play a match at 
tennis below.” 

This little interview exceedingly frightened the worthy knight, 
who went home to his lady in a delirious state of alarm occasioned 
by the audacity of Captain Walker. 

Mr. Slang’s interview with him was scarcely more satisfactory. 
He owed, he said, four thousand pounds. His creditors might be 
brought to compound for five shillings in the pound. He would not 
consent to allow his wife to make a single engagement until the 
creditors were satisfied, and until he had a handsome sum in hand 
to begin the world with. “Unless my wife comes out, you’ll be in 
the Gazette yourself, you know you will. So you may take her or 
leave her, as you think fit.”, 

“ Let her sing one night as a trial,” said Mr. Slang. 

“ If she sings one night, the creditors will want their money in 
full,” replied the Captain. “ I shan’t let her labour, poor thing, for 
the profit of those scoundrels ! ” added the prisoner, with much 
feeling. And Slang left him with a much greater respect for 
Walker than he had ever before possessed. He was struck with 
the gallantry of the man who could triumph over misfortunes, nay, 
make misfortune itself an engine of good luck. 

Mrs. Walker was instructed instantly to have a severe sore 
throat. The journals in Mr. Slang’s interest deplored this illness 
pathetically; while the papers in the interest of the opposition 
theatre magnified it with great malice. “The new singer,” said 
one, “ the great wonder which Slang promised us, is as hoarse as a 
raven ! ” “ Doctor Thorax pronounces,” wrote another paper, 

“ that the quinsy, which has suddenly prostrated Mrs. Ravenswing, 
whose singing at the Philharmonic, previous to her appearance at 

the ‘ T. R ,’ excited so much applause, has destroyed the lady’s 

voice for ever. We luckily need no other prima donna, when that 
place, as nightly thousands acknowledge, is held by Miss Ligonier.” 
The Looker-on said, “That although some well-informed contem- 
poraries had declared Mrs. W. Ravenswing’s complaint to be a 
quinsy, others, on whose authority they could equally rely, had 
pronounced it to be a consumption. At all events, she was in an 


470 


MEN’S WIVES 


exceedingly dangerous state ; from which, though we do not expect, 
we heartily trust she may recover. Opinions differ as to the merits 
of this lady, some saying that she was altogether inferior to Miss 
Ligonier, while other connoisseurs declare the latter lady to be by 
no means so accomplished a person. This point, we fear,” continued 
the Looker-on, “ can never now be settled ; unless, which we fear is 
improbable, Mrs. Ravenswing should ever so far recover as to be 
able to make her debut ; and even then, the new singer will not 
have a fair chance unless her voice and strength shall be fully 
restored. This information, which we have from exclusive resources, 
may be relied on,” concluded the Looker-on, “ as authentic.” 

It was Mr. Walker himself, that artful and audacious Fleet 
prisoner, who concocted those very paragraphs against his wife’s 
health which appeared in the journals of the Ligonier party. The 
partisans of that lady were delighted, the creditors of Mr. Walker 
astounded, at reading them. Even Sir George Thrum was taken in, 
and came to the Fleet prison in considerable alarm. 

“ Mum’s the word, my good sir ! ” said Mr. Walker. “Now is 
the time to make arrangements with the creditors.” 

Well, these arrangements were finally made. It does not 
matter how many shillings in the pound satisfied the rapacious 
creditors of Morgiana’s husband. But it is certain that her voice 
returned to her all of a sudden upon the Captain’s release. The 
papers of the Mulligan faction again trumpeted her perfections ; the 
agreement with Mr. Slang was concluded; that with Sir George 
Thrum the great composer satisfactorily arranged ; and the new 
opera underlined in immense capitals in the bills, and put in 
rehearsal with immense expenditure on the part of the scene-painter 
and costumier. 

Need we tell with what triumphant success the “Brigand’s 
Bride ” was received 1 All the Irish sub-editors the next morning 
took care to have such an account of it as made Miss Ligonier and 
Baroski die with envy. All the reporters who could spare time 
were in the boxes to support their friend’s word. All the journey- 
men tailors of the establishment of Linsey, Woolsey, & Co. had 
pit tickets given to them, and applauded with all their might. All 
Mr. Walker’s friends of the “Regent Club” lined the side-boxes 
with white kid gloves ; and in a little box by themselves sat Mrs. 
Crump and Mr. Woolsey, a great deal too much agitated to applaud 
— so agitated, that Woolsey even forgot to fling down the bouquet 
he had brought for the Ravenswing. 

But there was no lack of those horticultural ornaments. The 
theatre servants wheeled away a wheelbarrowful (which were flung 


THE RAVENSWING 471 

on the stage the next night over again) ; and Morgiana, blushing, 
panting, weeping, was led off by Mr. Poppleton, the eminent tenor, 
who had crowned her with one of the most conspicuous of the 
chaplets. 

Here she flew to her husband, and flung her arms round his 
neck. He was flirting behind the side-scenes with Mademoiselle 
Flicflac, who had been dancing in the divertissement ; and was pro- 
bably the only man in the theatre of those who witnessed the 
embrace that did not care for it. Even Slang was affected, and 
said with perfect sincerity that he wished he had been in Walker’s 
place. The manager’s fortune was made, at least for the season. 
He acknowledged so much to Walker, who took a week’s salary for 
his wife in advance that very night. 

There was, as usual, a grand supper in the green-room. The 
terrible Mr. Bludyer appeared in a new coat of the well-known 
Woolsey cut, and the little tailor himself and Mrs. Crump were not 
the least happy of the party. But when the Ravenswing took 
Woolsey’s hand, and said she never would have been there but for 
him, Mr. Walker looked very grave, and hinted to her that she 
must not, in her position, encourage the attentions of persons in 
that rank of life. “ I shall pay,” said he proudly, “ every farthing 
that is owing to Mr. Woolsey, and shall employ him for the future. 
But you understand, my love, that one cannot at one’s own table 
receive one’s own tailor.” 

Slang proposed Morgiana’s health in a tremendous speech, which 
elicited cheers, and laughter, and sobs, such as only managers have 
the art of drawing from the theatrical gentlemen and ladies in their 
employ. It was observed, especially among the chorus-singers at 
the bottom of the table, that their emotion was intense. They had 
a meeting the next day and voted a piece of plate to Adolphus Slang, 
Esquire, for his eminent services in the cause of the drama. 

Walker returned thanks for his lady. That was, he said, the 
proudest moment of his life. He was proud to think that he had 
educated her for the stage, happy to think that his sufferings had 
not been in vain, and that his exertions in her behalf were crowned 
with full success. In her name and his own he thanked the com- 
pany, and sat down, and was once more particularly attentive to 
Mademoiselle Flicflac. 

Then came an oration from Sir George Thrum, in reply to 
Slang’s toast to him. It was very much to the same effect as the 
speech by Walker, the two gentlemen attributing to themselves 
individually the merit of bringing out Mrs. Walker. He concluded 
by stating that he should always hold Mrs. Walker as the daughter 
of his heart, and to the last moment of his life should love and 


MEN’S WIVES 


472 

cherish her. It is certain that Sir George was exceedingly elated 
that night, and would have been scolded by his lady on his return 
home, but for the triumph of the evening. 

Mulligan’s speech of thanks, as author of the “ Brigand’s Bride,” 
was, it must be confessed, extremely tedious. It seemed there would 
be no end to it ; when he got upon the subject of Ireland especially, 
which somehow was found to be intimately connected with the 
interests of music and the theatre. Even the choristers pooh-poohed 
this speech, coming though it did from the successful author, whose 
songs of wine, love, and battle they had been repeating that night. 

The “ Brigand’s Bride ” ran for many nights. Its choruses were 
tuned on the organs of the day. Morgiana’s airs, “ The Rose upon 
my Balcony ” and the “ Lightning on the Cataract ” (recitative and 
scena) were on everybody’s lips, and brought so many guineas to Sir 
George Thrum that he was encouraged to have his portrait engraved, 
which still may be seen in the music-shops. Not many persons, I 
believe, bought proof impressions of the plate, price two guineas ; 
whereas, on the contrary, all the young clerks in banks, and all the 
fast young men of the universities, had pictures of the Ravenswing 
in their apartments — as Biondetta (the brigand’s bride), as Zelyma 
(in the “Nuptials of Benares”), as Barbareska (in the “Mine of 
Tobolsk”), and in all her famous characters. In the latter she 
disguises herself as a Uhlan, in order to save her father, who is in 
prison ; and the Ravenswing looked so fascinating in this costume 
in pantaloons and yellow boots, that Slang was for having her 
instantly in Captain Macheath, whence arose their quarrel. 

She was replaced at Slang’s theatre by Snooks, the rhinoceros- 
tamer, with his breed of wild buffaloes. Their success was immense. 
Slang gave a supper, at which all the company burst into tears ; and 
assembling in the green-room next day, they, as usual, voted a piece 
of plate to Adolphus Slang, Esquire, for his eminent services to the 
drama. 

In the Captain Macheath dispute Mr. Walker would have had his 
wife yield ; but on this point, and for once, she disobeyed her husband 
and left the theatre. And when Walker cursed her (according to 
his wont) for her abominable selfishness and disregard of his pro- 
perty, she burst into tears and said she had spent but twenty 
guineas on herself and baby during the year, that her theatrical 
dressmaker’s bills were yet unpaid, and that she had never asked 
him how much he spent on that odious French figurante. 

All this was true, except about the French figurante. Walker, 
as the lord and master, received all Morgiana’s earnings, and spent 
them as a gentleman should. He gave very neat dinners at a 
cottage in Regent’s Park (Mr. and Mrs. Walker lived in Green 


THE RAVENSWING 


473 


Street, Grosvenor Square), he played a good deal at the “ Regent ” ; 
but as to the French figurante , it must be confessed, that Mrs. 
Walker was in a sad error : that lady and the Captain had parted 
long ago ; it was Madame Dolores de Tras-os-Montes who inhabited 
the cottage in St. John’s Wood now. 

But if some little errors of this kind might be attributable to 
the Captain, on the other hand, when his wife was in the provinces, 
he was the most attentive of husbands ; made all her bargains, and 
received every shilling before he would permit her to sing a note. 
Thus he prevented her from being cheated, as a person of her easy 
temper doubtless would have been, by designing managers and needy 
concert-givers. They always travelled with four horses ; and 
Walker was adored in every one of the principal hotels in England. 
The waiters flew at his bell. The chambermaids were afraid he 
was a sad naughty man, and thought his wife no such great beauty ; 
the landlords preferred him to any duke. He never looked at their 
bills, not he ! In fact his income was at least four thousand a year 
for some years of his life. 

Master Woolsey Walker was put to Doctor Wapshot’s seminary, 
whence, after many disputes on the Doctor’s part as to getting his 
half-year’s accounts paid, and after much complaint of ill-treatment 
on the little boy’s side, he was withdrawn, and placed under the 
care of the Reverend Mr. Swishtail, at Turnham Green ; where all 
his bills are paid by his godfather, now the head of the firm of 
Woolsey & Co. 

As a gentleman, Mr. Walker still declines to see him ; but he 
has not, as far as I have heard, paid the sums of money which he 
threatened to refund ; and, as he is seldom at home, the worthy 
tailor can come to Green Street at his leisure. He and Mrs. Crump, 
and Mrs. Walker often take the omnibus to Brentford, and a cake 
with them to little Woolsey at school ; to whom the tailor says he 
will leave every shilling of his property. 

The Walkers have no other children ; but when she takes her 
airing in the Park she always turns away at the sight of a low 
phaeton, in which sits a woman with rouged cheeks, and a great 
number of overdressed children and a French bonne , whose name, 
I am given to understand, is Madame Dolores de Tras-os-Montes. 
Madame de Tras-os-Montes always puts a great gold glass to her 
eye as the Ravenswing’s carriage passes, and looks into it with a 
sneer. The two coachmen used always to exchange queer winks at 
each other in the ring, until Madame de Tras-os-Montes lately 
adopted a tremendous chasseur, with huge whiskers and a green and 
gold livery ; since which time the formerly named gentlemen do not 
recognise each other. 


474 


MEN’S WIVES 


The Ravenswing’s life is one of perpetual triumph on the stage ; 
and, as every one of the fashionable men about town have been in 
love with her, you may fancy what a pretty character she has. 
Lady Thrum would die sooner than speak to that unhappy young 
woman; and, in fact, the Thrums have a new pupil, who is a 
siren without the dangerous qualities of one, who has the person 
of Venus, and the mind of a Muse, and who is coming out at one 
of the theatres immediately. Baroski says, “ De liddle Rafensch- 
wing is just as font of me as effer ! ” People are very shy about 
receiving her in society ; and when she goes to sing at a concert, 
Miss Prim starts up and skurries off in a state of the greatest alarm, 
lest “ that person ” should speak to her. 

Walker is voted a good, easy, rattling, gentlemanly fellow, and 
nobody’s enemy but his own. His wife, they say, is dreadfully 
extravagant : and, indeed, since his marriage, and in spite of his 
wife’s large income, he has been in the Bench several times ; but 
she signs some bills and he comes out again, and is as gay and 
genial as ever. All mercantile speculations he has wisely long since 
given up ; he likes to throw a main of an evening, as I have said, 
and to take his couple of bottles at dinner. On Friday he attends 
at the theatre for his wife’s salary, and transacts no other business 
during the week. He grows exceedingly stout, dyes his hair, and 
has a bloated purple look about the nose and cheeks, very different 
from that which first charmed the heart of Morgiana. 

By the way, Eglantine has been turned out of the Bower of 
Bloom, and now keeps a shop at Tunbridge Wells. Going down 
thither last year without a razor, I asked a fat seedy man, lolling 
in a faded nankeen jacket at the door of a tawdry little shop in 
the Pantiles, to shave me. Fie said in reply, “ Sir, I do not 
practise in that branch of the profession ! ” and turned back into 
the little shop. It was Archibald Eglantine. But in the wreck 
of his fortunes he still has his captain’s uniform, and his grand 
cross of the order of the Castle and Falcon of Panama. 


POSTSCRIPT 

G. Fitz-Boodle, Esq., to 0. Yorke, Esq. 

Zum Trierischen Hof, Coblenz : July 10, 1843. 

My dear Yorke, — The story of the Ravenswing was written a 
long time since, and I never could account for the bad taste of the 
publishers of the metropolis who refused it an insertion in their 


. THE RAVENSWING 475 

various magazines. This fact would never have been alluded to 
but for the following circumstance : — 

Only yesterday, as I was dining at this excellent hotel, I re- 
marked a bald-headed gentleman in a blue coat and brass buttons, 
who looked like a colonel on half-pay, and by his side a lady and 
a little boy of twelve, whom the gentleman was cramming with an 
amazing quantity of cherries and cakes. A stout old dame in a 
wonderful cap and ribands was seated by the lady’s side, and it was 
easy to see they were English, and I thought I had already made 
their acquaintance elsewhere. 

The younger of the ladies at last made a bow with an accom- 
panying blush. 

“ Surely,” said I, “I have the honour of speaking to Mrs. 
Ravenswing ? ” 

“Mrs. Woolsey, sir,” said the gentleman; “my wife has long 
since left the stage : ” and at this the old lady in the wonderful 
cap trod on my toes very severely, and nodded her head and all 
her ribands in a most mysterious way. Presently the two ladies 
rose and left the table, the elder declaring that she heard the 
baby crying. 

“Woolsey, my dear, go with your mamma,” said Mr. Woolsey, 
patting the boy on the head. The young gentleman obeyed the 
command, carrying oft* a plate of macaroons with him. 

“Your son is a fine boy, sir,” said I. 

“My step-son, sir,” answered Mr. Woolsey; and added, in a 
louder voice, “I knew you, Mr. Fitz-Boodle, at once, but did not 
mention your name for fear of agitating my wife. She don’t like 
to have the memory of old times renewed, sir ; her former husband, 
whom you knew, Captain Walker, made her very unhappy. He 
died in America, sir, of this, I fear ” (pointing to the bottle) “ and 
Mrs. W. quitted the stage a year before I quitted business. Are 
you going on to Wiesbaden ? ” 

They went off in their carriage that evening, the boy on the 
box making great efforts to blow out of the postillion’s tasselled 
horn. 

I am glad that poor Morgiana is happy at last, and hasten to 
inform you of the fact. I am going to visit the old haunts of my 
youth at Pumpernickel. Adieu. — Yours, G. F.-B. 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 


CHAPTER I 

THE FIGHT AT SLAUGHTER HOUSE 

I AM very fond of reading about battles, and have most of 
Marlborough’s and Wellington’s at my fingers’ ends; but the 
most tremendous combat I ever saw, and one that interests me 
to think of more than Malplaquet or Waterloo (which, by the way, 
has grown to be a downright nuisance, so much do men talk of it 
after dinner, prating most disgustingly about “ the Prussians coming 
up,” and what not) — I say the most tremendous combat ever known 
was that between Berry and Biggs the gown-boy, which commenced 
in a certain place called Middle Briars, situated in the midst of the 
cloisters that run along the side of the playground of Slaughter 
House School, near Smithfield, London. It was there, madam, 
that your humble servant had the honour of acquiring, after six 
years’ labour, that immense fund of classical knowledge which in 
after life has been so exceedingly useful to him. 

The circumstances of the quarrel were these : — Biggs, the gown- 
boy (a man who, in those days, I thought was at least seven feet 
high, and was quite thunderstruck to find in after life that he 
measured no more than five feet four), was what we called “ second 
cock ” of the school ; the first cock was a great big, good-humoured, 
lazy, fair-haired fellow, Old Hawkins by name, who, because he was 
large and good-humoured, hurt nobody. Biggs, on the contrary, 
was a sad bully ; he had half-a-dozen fags, and beat them all un- 
mercifully. Moreover, he had a little brother, a boarder in Potky’s 
house, whom, as a matter of course, he hated and maltreated worse 
than any one else. 

Well, one day, because young Biggs had not brought his brother 
his hoops, or had not caught a ball at cricket, or for some other equally 
good reason, Biggs the elder so belaboured the poor little fellow, that 
Berry, who was sauntering by, and saw the dreadful blows which 
the elder brother was dealing to the younger with his hockey-stick, 
felt a compassion for the little fellow (perhaps he had a jealousy 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 477 

against Biggs, and wanted to try a few rounds with him, but that I 
can’t vouch for) ; however, Berry passing by, stopped and said, 
“ Don’t you think you have thrashed the boy enough, Biggs ? ” He 
spoke this in a very civil tone, for he never would have thought of 
interfering rudely with the sacred privilege that an upper boy at a 
public school always has of beating a junior, especially when they 
happen to be brothers. 

The reply of Biggs, as might be expected, was to hit young 
Biggs with the hockey-stick twice as hard as before, until the little 
wretch howled with pain. “I suppose it’s no business of yours, 
Berry,” said Biggs, thumping away all the while, and laid on worse 
and v 7 orse. 

Until Berry (and, indeed, little Biggs) could bear it no longer, 
and the former, bouncing forward, wrenched the stick out of old 
Biggs's hands, and sent it whirling out of the cloister window, to the 
great wonder of a crowd of us small boys, who were looking on. 
Little boys always like to see a little companion of their own 
soundly beaten. 

“ There ! ” said Berry, looking into Biggs’s face, as much as to 
say, “ I’ve gone and done it ; ” and he added to the brother, “ Scud 
away, you little thief ; I’ve saved you this time.” 

“ Stop, young Biggs !” roared out his brother after a pause ; “or 
I’ll break every bone in your infernal scoundrelly skin ! ” 

Young Biggs looked at Berry, then at his brother, then came at 
his brother’s order, as if back to be beaten again ; but lost heart, 
and ran away as fast as his little legs could carry him. 

“ I’ll do for him another time,” said Biggs. “ Here, under-boy, 
take my coat ; ” and we all began to gather round and formed a 
ring. 

“We had better wait till after school, Biggs,” cried Berry, quite 
cool, but looking a little pale. “ There are only five minutes now, 
and it will take you more than that to thrash me.” 

Biggs upon this committed a great error ; for he struck Berry 
slightly across the face with the back of his hand, saying, “You are 
in a funk.” But this was a feeling which Frank Berry did not in 
the least entertain; for, in reply to Biggs’s back-hander, and as 
quick as thought, and with all his might and main — pong ! he 
delivered a blow upon old Biggs’s nose that made the claret spirt, 
and sent the second cock down to the ground as if he had been 
shot. 

He was up again, however, in a minute, his face white and 
gashed with blood, his eyes glaring, a ghastly spectacle ; and Berry, 
meanwhile, had taken his coat off, and by this time there were 
gathered in the cloisters, on all the windows, and upon each other’s 


478 


MEN’S WIVES 


shoulders, one hundred and twenty young gentlemen at the very 
least, for the news had gone out through the playground of “ a fight 
between Berry and Biggs.” 

But Berry was quite right in his remark about the propriety of 
deferring the business, for at this minute, Mr. Chip, the second 
master, came down the cloisters going into school, and grinned in 
his queer way as he saw the state of Biggs’s face. “ Holloa, Mr. 
Biggs,” said he, I suppose you have run against a finger-post.” 
That was the regular joke with us at school, and you may be sure 
we all laughed heartily : as we always did when Mr. Chip made a 
joke, or anything like a joke. “ You had better go to the pump, 
sir, and get yourself washed, and not let Dr. Buckle see you in that 
condition.” So saying, Mr. Chip disappeared to his duties in the 
under-school, whither all we little boys followed him. 

It was Wednesday, a half-holiday, as everybody knows, and 
boiled-beef day at Slaughter House. I was in the same boarding- 
house with Berry, and we all looked to see whether he ate a good 
dinner, just as one would examine a man who was going to be 
hanged. I recollected, in after-life, in Germany, seeing a friend 
who was going to fight a duel eat five larks for his breakfast, and 
thought I had seldom witnessed greater courage. Berry ate moder- 
ately of the boiled beef — boiled child we used to call it at school, 
in our elegant jocular way; he knew a great deal better than to 
load his stomach upon the eve of such a contest as was going to 
take place. 

Dinner was very soon over, - and Mr. Chip, who had been all 
the w T hile joking Berry, and pressing him to eat, called him up 
into his study, to the great disappointment of us all, for we thought 
he was going to prevent the fight; but no such thing. The 
Reverend Edward Chip took Berry into his study, and poured him 
out two glasses of port-wine, which he made him take with a biscuit, 
and patted him on the back, and went off. I have no doubt he 
was longing, like all of us, to see the battle; but etiquette, you 
know, forbade. 

When we went out into the green, old Hawkins was there — 
the great Hawkins, the cock of the school. I have never seen the 
man since, but still think of him as of something awful, gigantic, 
mysterious : he who could thrash everybody, who could beat all 
the masters ; how we longed for him to put in his hand and lick 
Buckle ! He was a dull boy, not very high in the school, and had 
all his exercises written for him. Buckle knew this, but respected 
him ; never called him up to read Greek plays ; passed over all his 
blunders, which were many ; let him go out of half-holidays into the 
town as he pleased : how should any man dare to stop him — the 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 479 

great calm magnanimous silent Strength ! They say he licked a 
Life-Guardsman : I wonder whether it was Shaw, who killed all 
those Frenchmen 1 ? No, it could not be Shaw, for he was dead 
au champ d’honneur ; but he would have licked Shaw if he had 
been alive. A bargeman I know he licked, at Jack Randall’s in 
Slaughter House Lane. Old Hawkins was too lazy to play at 
cricket ; he sauntered all day in the sunshine about the green, 
accompanied by little Tippins, who was in the sixth form, laughed 
and joked at Hawkins eternally, and was the person who wrote all 
his exercises. 

Instead of going into town this afternoon, Hawkins remained at 
Slaughter House, to see the great fight between the second and third 
cocks. 

The different masters of the school kept boarding-houses (such 
as Potky’s, Chip’s, Wickens’s, Pinney’s, and so on), and the play- 
ground, or “ green ” as it was called, although the only thing green 
about the place was the broken glass on the walls that separate 
Slaughter House from Wilderness Row and Goswell Street — (many 
a time have I seen Mr. Pickwick look out of his window in that 
street, though we did not know him then) — the playground, or 
green, was common to all. But if any stray boy from Potky’s was 
found, for instance, in, or entering into, Chip’s house, the most 
dreadful tortures were practised upon him : as I can answer in my 
own case. 

Fancy, then, our astonishment at seeing a little three-foot 
wretch, of the name of Wills, one of Hawkins’s fags (they were 
both in Potky’s), walk undismayed amongst us lions at Chip’s 
house, as the “ rich and rare ” young lady did in Ireland. We 
were going to set upon him and devour or otherwise maltreat him, 
when he cried out in a little shrill impertinent voice, “ Tell Berry 
I want him ! ” 

We all roared with laughter. Berry was in the sixth form, and 
Wills or any under-boy would as soon have thought of “ wanting ” 
him, as I should of wanting the Duke of Wellington. 

Little Wills looked round in an imperious kind of way. “ Well,” 
says he, stamping his foot, “ do you hear ? Tell Berry that 
Hawkins wants him ! ” 

As for resisting the law of Hawkins, you might as soon think 
of resisting immortal Jove. Berry and Tolmash, who was to be 
his bottle-holder, made their appearance immediately, and walked 
out into the green where Hawkins was waiting, and, with an 
irresistible audacity that only belonged to himself, in the face 
of nature and all the regulations of the place, was smoking a 
cigar. When Berry and Tolmash found him, the three began 


480 MEN’S WIVES 

slowly pacing up and down in the sunshine, and we little boys 
watched them. 

Hawkins moved his arms and hands every now and then, and was 
evidently laying down the law about boxing. We saw his fists 
darting out every now and then with mysterious swiftness, hitting 
one, two, quick as thought, as if in the face of an adversary ; now 
his left hand went up, as if guarding his own head, now his immense 
right fist dreadfully flapped the air, as if punishing his imaginary 
opponent’s miserable ribs. The conversation lasted for some ten 
minutes, about which time gown-boys’ dinner was over, and we saw 
these youths, in their black horned-button jackets and knee-breeches, 
issuing from their door in the cloisters. There were no hoops, no 
cricket-bats, as usual on a half-holiday. Who would have thought 
of play in expectation of such tremendous sport as was in store 
for us ? 

Towering among the gown-boys, of whom he was the head and 
the tyrant, leaning upon Bushby’s arm, and followed at a little 
distance by many curious pale awe-stricken boys, dressed fn his black 
silk stockings, which he always sported, and with a crimson bandanna 
tied round his waist, came Biggs. His nose was swollen with the 
blow given before school, but his eyes flashed fire. He was laughing 
and sneering with Bushby, and evidently intended to make minced 
meat of Berry. 

The betting began pretty freely : the bets were against poor 
Berry. Five to three were offered —in ginger-beer. I took six to 
four in raspberry open tarts. The. upper boys carried the thing 
farther still : and I know for a fact, that Swang’s book amounted to 
four pound three (but he hedged a good deal), and Tittery lost 
seventeen shillings in a single bet to Pitts, who took the odds. 

As Biggs and his party arrived, I heard Hawkins say to Berry, 
“ For Heaven’s sake, my boy, fib with your right, and mind his 
left hand ! ” 

Middle Briars was voted to be too confined a space for the com- 
bat, and it was agreed that it should take place behind the under- 
school in the shade, whither we all went. Hawkins, with his 
immense silver hunting-watch, kept the time ; and water was brought 
from the pump close to Notley’s the pastry-cook’s, wdio did not 
admire fisticuffs at all on half-holidays, for the fights kept the boys 
away from his shop. Gutley was the only fellow in the school who 
remained faithful to him, and he sat on the counter — the great 
gormandising brute ! — eating tarts the whole day. 

This famous fight, as every Slaughter House man knows, lasted 
for two hours and twenty-nine minutes, by Hawkins’s immense watch. 
All this time the air resounded with cries of “Go it, Berry ! ” “ Go 


481 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 

it, Biggs ! ” “ Pitch into him ! ” “ Give it him ! ” and so on. Shall 
I describe the hundred and two rounds of the combat? — No! — It 
would occupy too much space, and the taste for such descriptions has 
passed away.* 

1st round. — Both the combatants fresh, and in prime order. 
The weight and inches somewhat on the gown-boy’s side. Berry 
goes gallantly in, and delivers a clinker on the gown-boy’s jaw. 
Biggs makes play with his left. Berry down. 

4th round. — Claret drawn in profusion from the gown-boy’s grog- 
shop. (He went down, and had his front tooth knocked out, but the 
blow cut Berry’s knuckles a great deal.) 


15th round. — Chancery. Fibbing. Biggs makes dreadful work 
with his left. Break away. Rally. Biggs down. Betting still 
six to four on the gown-boy. 

20th round. — The men both dreadfully punished. Berry some- 
what shy of his adversary’s left hand. 


29th to 42nd round. — The Chipsite all this while breaks away 
from the gown-boy’s left, and goes down on a knee. Six to four on 
the gown-boy, until the fortieth round, when the bets became equal. 

102nd and last round. — For half-an-hour the men had stood 
up to each other, but were almost too weary to strike. The 
gown-boy’s face hardly to be recognised, swollen and streaming 
with blood. The Chipsite in a similar condition, and still more 
punished about his side from his enemy’s left hand. Berry gives 
a blow at his adversary’s face, and falls over him as he falls. 

The gown-boy can’t come up to time. And thus ended the great 
fight of Berry and Biggs. 

And what, pray, has this horrid description of a battle and 
a parcel of schoolboys to do with Men's Wives ? 

What has it to do with Men's Wives 1 — A great deal more, 
madam, than you think for. Only read Chapter II., and you 
shall hear. 

* As it is very probable that many fair readers may not approve of the 
extremely forcible language in which the combat is depicted, I beg them to 
skip it and pass on to the next chapter, and to remember that it has been 
modelled on the style of the very best writers of the sporting papers. 

4 2 H 


CHAPTER II 

THE COMBAT AT VERSAILLES 


I AFTERWARDS came to be Berry’s fag, and, though beaten 
by him daily, he allowed, of course, no one else to lay a hand 
upon me, and I got no more thrashing than was good for me. 
Thus an intimacy grew up between us, and after he left Slaughter 
House and went into the dragoons, the honest fellow did not forget 
his old friend, but actually made his appearance one day in the 
playground in moustaches and a braided coat, and gave me a gold 
pencil-case and a couple of sovereigns. I blushed when I took 
them, but take them I did ; and I think the thing I almost best 
recollect in my life, is the sight of Berry getting behind an immense 
bay cab-horse, which was held by a correct little groom, and was 
waiting near the school in Slaughter House Square. He proposed, 
too, to have me to “ Long’s,” where he was lodging for the time ; 
but this invitation was refused on my behalf by Doctor Buckle, 
who said, and possibly with correctness, that I should get little 
good by spending my holiday with such a scapegrace. 

Once afterwards he came to see me at Christ Church, and we 
made a show of writing to one another, and didn’t, and always 
had a hearty mutual goodwill ; and though we did not quite burst 
into tears on parting, were yet quite happy when occasion threw 
us together, and so almost lost sight of each other. I heard lately 
that Berry was married, and am rather ashamed to say, that I 
was not so curious as even to ask the maiden name of his lady. 

Last summer I was at Paris, and had gone over to Versailles 
to meet a party, one of which was a young lady to whom I was 

tenderly But, never mind. The day was rainy, and the party 

did not keep its appointment ; and after yawning through the inter- 
minable Palace picture-galleries, and then making an attempt to 
smoke a cigar in the Palace garden — for which crime I was nearly 
run through the body by a rascally sentinel— I was driven, perforce, 
into the great bleak lonely place before the Palace, with its roads 
branching off to all the towns in the world, which Louis and 
Napoleon once intended to conquer, and there enjoyed my favourite 
pursuit at leisure, and was meditating whether I should go back to 


OLD SCHOOLFELLOWS. 










MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 483 

“ Vdfour’s ” for dinner, or patronise my friend M. Duboux of the 
“ Hotel des Reservoirs,” who gives not only a good dinner, but as 
dear a one as heart can desire. I was, I say, meditating these 
things, when a carriage passed by. It was a smart low calash, with 
a pair of bay horses and a postillion in a drab jacket that twinkled 
with innumerable buttons, and I was too much occupied in admiring 
the build of the machine, and the extreme tightness of the fellow’s 
inexpressibles, to look at the personages within the carriage, when 
the gentleman roared out “ Fitz ! ” and the postillion pulled up, and 
the lady gave a shrill scream, and a little black-muzzled spaniel 
began barking and yelling with all his might, and a man with 
moustaches jumped out of the vehicle, and began shaking me by 
the hand. 

“ Drive home, John,” said the gentleman : “ I’ll be with you, 
my love, in an instant — it’s an old friend. Fitz, let me present 
you to Mrs. Berry.” 

The lady made an exceedingly gentle inclination of her black- 
velvet bonnet, and said, “ Pray, my love, remember that it is just 
dinner-time. However, never mind me .” And with another slight 
toss and a nod to the postillion, that individual’s white leather 
breeches began to jump up and down again in the saddle, and the 
carriage disappeared, leaving me shaking my old friend Berry by 
the hand. 

He had long quitted the army, but still wore his military beard, 
which gave to his fair pink face a fierce and lion-like look. He was 
extraordinarily glad to see me, as only men are glad who live in a 
small town, or in dull company. There is no destroyer of friend- 
ships like London, where a man has no time to think of his neigh- 
bour, and has far too many friends to care for them. He told me 
in a breath of his marriage, and how happy he was, and straight 
insisted that I must come home to dinner, and see more of Angelica, 
who had invited me herself — didn’t I hear her % 

“ Mrs. Berry asked you, Frank ; but I certainly did not hear 
her ask me ! ” 

“ She would not have mentioned the dinner but that she meant 
me to ask you. I know she did,” cried Frank Berry. “And, 
besides — hang it — I’m master of the house. So come you shall. 
No ceremony, old boy — one or two friends — snug family party — 
and we’ll talk of old times over a bottle of claret.” 

There did not seem to me to be the slightest objection to this 
arrangement, except that my boots were muddy, and my coat of the 
morning sort. But as it was quite impossible to go to Paris and back 
again in a quarter of an hour, and as a man may dine with perfect 
comfort to himself in a frock-coat, it did not occur to me to be 


484 MEN'S WIVES 

particularly squeamish, or to decline an old friend’s invitation upon 
a pretext so trivial. 

Accordingly we walked to a small house in the Avenue de Paris, 
and were admitted first into a small garden ornamented by a grotto, 
a fountain, and several nymphs in plaster-of-paris, then up a mouldy 
old steep stair into a hall, where a statue of Cupid and another of 
Venus welcomed us with their eternal simper; then through a 
salle-a-manger , where covers were laid for six ; and finally to a 
little saloon, where Fido the dog began to howl furiously according 
to his wont. 

It was one of the old pavilions that had been built for a pleasure- 
house in the gay days of Versailles, ornamented with abundance of 
damp cupids and cracked gilt cornices, and old mirrors let into the 
walls, and gilded once, but now painted a dingy French white. The 
long low windows looked into the court, where the fountain played 
its ceaseless dribble, surrounded by numerous rank creepers and 
weedy flowers, but in the midst of which the statues stood with 
their bases quite moist and green. 

I hate fountains and statues in dark confined places : that cheer- 
less, endless plashing of water is the most inhospitable sound ever 
heard. The stiff grin of those French statues, or ogling Canova 
Graces, is by no means more happy, I think, than the smile of a 
skeleton, and not so natural. Those little pavilions in which the 
old roues sported were never meant to be seen by daylight, depend 
on’t. They were lighted up with a hundred wax-candles, and the 
little fountain yonder was meant only to cool their claret. And so, 
my first impression of Berry’s place of abode was rather a dismal 
one. However, I heard him in the salle-a-manger drawing the corks, 
which went off with a cloop , and that consoled me. 

As for the furniture of the rooms appertaining to the Berrys, 
there was a harp in a leather case, and a piano, and a flute-box, 
and a huge tambour with a Saracen’s nose just begun, and likewise 
on the table a multiplicity of those little gilt books, half sentimental 
and half religious, which the wants of the age and of our young 
ladies have produced in such numbers of late. I quarrel with no 
lady’s taste in that way ; but heigho ! I had rather that Mrs. Fitz- 
Boodle should read “ Humphry Clinker ” ! 

Besides these works, there was a “ Peerage,” of course. What 
genteel family was ever without one ? 

I was making for the door to see Frank drawing the corks, and 
was bounced at by the amiable little black-muzzled spaniel, who 
fastened his teeth in my pantaloons, and received a polite kick in 
consequence, which sent him howling to the other end of the room, 
and the animal was just in the act of performing that feat of agility, 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 


485 


when the door opened and madame made her appearance. Frank 
came behind her, peering over her shoulder with rather an anxious 
look. 

Mrs. Berry is an exceedingly white and lean person. She has 
thick eyebrows, which meet rather dangerously over her nose, which 
is Grecian, and a small mouth with no lips — a sort of feeble pucker 
in the face as it were. Under her eyebrows are a pair of enormous 
eyes, which she is in the habit of turning constantly ceiling-wards. 
Her hair is rather scarce, and worn in bandeaux, and she commonly 
mounts a sprig of laurel, or a dark flower or two, which with the 
sham tour — I believe that is the name of the knob of artificial hair 
that many ladies sport — gives her a rigid and classical look. She 
is dressed in black, and has invariably the neatest of silk stockings 
and shoes : for forsooth her foot is a fine one, and she always sits 
with it before her, looking at it, stamping it, and admiring it a great 
deal. “ Fido,” she says to her spaniel, “you have almost crushed 
my poor foot ; ” or, “ Frank,” to her husband, “ bring me a foot- 
stool ; ” or, “I suffer so from cold in the feet,” and so forth ; but 
be the conversation what it will, she is always sure to put her foot 
into it. 

She invariably wears on her neck the miniature of her late father, 
Sir George Catacomb, apothecary to George III. ; and she thinks 
those two men the greatest the world ever saw. She was born in 
Baker Street, Portman Square, and that is saying almost enough 
of her. She is as long, as genteel, and as dreary as that deadly- 
lively place, and sports, by way of ornament, her papa’s hatchment, 
as it were, as every tenth Baker Street house has taught her. 

What induced such a jolly fellow as Frank Berry to marry Miss 
Angelica Catacomb no one can tell. He met her, he says, at a ball 
at Hampton Court, where his regiment was quartered, and where, 
to this day, lives “ her aunt Lady Pash.” She alludes perpetually 
in conversation to that celebrated lady ; and if you look in the 
“Baronetage” to the pedigree of the Pash family, you may see 
manuscript notes by Mrs. Frank Berry, relative to them and herself. 
Thus, when you see in print that Sir John Pash married Angelica, 
daughter of Graves Catacomb, Esquire, in a neat hand you find 
written, and sister of the late Sir George Catacomb , of Baker Street , 
Portman Square : “ A. B.” follows of course. It is a wonder how 
fond ladies are of writing in books, and signing their charming 
initials! Mrs. Berry’s before-mentioned little gilt books are scored 
with pencil-marks, or occasionally at the margin with a ! — note of 
interjection, or the words “ Too true , A. and so on. Much may 

be learned with regard to lovely woman by a look at the books she 
reads in; and I had gained no inconsiderable knowledge of Mrs. 


486 


MEN’S WIVES 


Berry by the ten minutes spent in the drawing-room, while she was 
at her toilet in the adjoining bedchamber. 

“You have often heard me talk of George Fitz,” says Berry, 
with an appealing look to madame. 

“ Very often,” answered his lady, in a tone which clearly meant 
“a great deal too much.” “Pray, sir,” continued she, looking at 
my boots with all her might, “are we to have your company at 
dinner 1 ” 

“ Of course you are, my dear ; what else do you think he came 
for 1 ? You would not have the man go back to Paris to get his 
evening coat, would you 'l ” 

“ At least, my love, I hope you will go and put on yours , and 
change those muddy boots. Lady Pash will be here in five minutes, 
and you know Dobus is as punctual as clockwork.” Then turning 
to me with a sort of apology that was as consoling as a box on the 
ear, “We have some friends at dinner, sir, who are rather particular 
persons ; but I am sure when they hear that you only came on a 
sudden invitation, they will excuse your morning dress. — Bah ! what 
a smell of smoke ! ” 

With this speech madame placed herself majestically on a sofa, 
put out her foot, called Fido, and relapsed into an icy silence. Frank 
had long since evacuated the premises, with a rueful look at his 
wife, but never daring to cast a glance at me. I saw the whole 
business at once : here was this lion of a fellow tamed down by a 
she Van Amburgh, and fetching and carrying at her orders a great 
deal more obediently than her little yowling black-muzzled darling 
of a Fido. 

I am not, however, to be tamed so easily, and was determined 
in this instance not to be in the least disconcerted, or to show the 
smallest sign of ill-humour : so to renouer the conversation, I began 
about Lady Pash. 

“ I heard you mention the name of Pash, I think ! ” said I. 
“ I know a lady of that name, and a very ugly one it is too.” 

“It is most probably not the same person,” answered Mrs. 
Berry, with a look which intimated that a fellow like me could 
never have had the honour to know so exalted a person. 

“ I mean old Lady Pash of Hampton Court. Fat woman — fair, 
ain’t she 1 ?— and wears an amethyst in her forehead, has one eye, 
a blond wig, and dresses in light green 1 ” 

“Lady Pash, sir, is my aunt,” answered Mrs. Berry (not 
altogether displeased, although she expected money from the old 
lady ; but you know we love to hear our friends abused when it 
can be safely done). 

“ Oh, indeed ! she was a daughter of old Catacomb’s of Windsor, 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 487 

I remember, the undertaker. They called her husband Callipash, 
and her ladyship Pishpash. So you see, madam, that I know the 
whole family ! ” 

“ Mr. Fitz-Simons ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Berry, rising, “ I am not 
accustomed to hear nicknames applied to myself and my family ; 
and must beg you, when you honour us with your company, to 
spare our feelings as much as possible. Mr. Catacomb had the 
confidence of his Sovereign, sir, and Sir John Pash was of Charles 
II.’s creation. The one was my uncle, sir; the other my grand- 
father ! ” 

“My dear madam, I am extremely sorry, and most sincerely 
apologise for my inadvertence. But you owe me an apology too : 
my name is not Fitz-Simons, but Fitz-Boodle.” 

“ What ! of Boodle Hall — my husband’s old friend ; of Charles 
I.’s creation ? My dear sir, I beg you a thousand pardons, and am 
delighted to welcome a person of whom I have heard Frank say so 
much. Frank ! ” (to Berry, who soon entered in very glossy boots 
and a white waistcoat), “ do you know, darling, I mistook Mr. Fitz- 
Boodle for Mr. Fitz-Simons — that horrid Irish horse-dealing person ; 
and I never, never, never can pardon myself for being so rude to 
him.” 

The big eyes here assumed an expression that was intended to 
kill me outright with kindness : from being calm, still, reserved, 
Angelica suddenly became gay, smiling, confidential, and folatre. 
She told me she had heard I was a sad creature, and that she 
intended to reform me, and that I must come and see Frank a 
great deal. 

Now, although Mr. Fitz-Simons, for whom I was mistaken, is 
as low a fellow as ever came out of Dublin, and having been a 
captain in somebody’s army, is now a blackleg and horse-dealer by 
profession ; yet, if I had brought him home to Mrs. Fitz-Boodle to 
dinner, I should have liked far better that that imaginary lady 
should have received him with decent civility, and not insulted the 
stranger within her husband’s gates. And, although it was delight- 
ful to be received so cordially when the mistake was discovered, yet 
I found that all Berry’s old acquaintances were by no means so 
warmly welcomed ; for another old school-chum presently made his 
appearance, who was treated in a very different manner. 

This was no other than poor Jack Butts, who is a sort of small 
artist and picture-dealer by profession, and was a day-boy at 
Slaughter House when we were there, and very serviceable in bring- 
ing in sausages, pots of pickles, and other articles of merchandise, 
which we could not otherwise procure. The poor fellow has been 
employed, seemingly, in the same office of fetcher and carrier ever 


488 


MEN’S WIVES 


since ; and occupied that post for Mrs. Berry. It was, “ Mr. Butts, 
have you finished that drawing for Lady Pash’s album ? ” and Butts 
produced it ; and, “ Did you match the silk for me at Delille’s 1 ” 
and there was the silk, bought, no doubt, with the poor fellow’s 
last five francs; and, “Did you go to the furniture-man in the 
Rue St. Jacques ; and bring the canary-seed, and call about my 
shawl at that odious dawdling Madame Fichet’s ; and have you 
brought the guitar-strings ? ” 

Butts hadn’t brought the guitar-strings; and thereupon Mrs. 
Berry s countenance assumed the same terrible expression which 
I had formerly remarked in it, and which made me tremble for 
Berry. 

“ My dear Angelica,” though said he with some spirit, “ Jack 
Butts isn’t a baggage-waggon, nor a Jack-of-all-trades ; you make 
him paint pictures for your women’s albums, and look after your 
upholsterer, and your canary-bird, and your milliners, and turn 
rusty because he forgets your last message.” 

“I did not turn rusty , Frank, as you call it elegantly. I’m 
very much obliged to Mr. Butts for performing my commissions — 
very much obliged. And as for not paying for the pictures to 
which you so kindly allude, Frank, / should never have thought of 
offering payment for so paltry a service ; but I’m sure I shall be 
happy to pay if Mr. Butts will send me in his bill.” 

“ By Jove, Angelica, this is too much ! ” bounced out Berry ; 
but the little matrimonial squabble was abruptly ended by Berry’s 
French man flinging open the door and announcing Miladi Pash 
and Doctor Dobus, which two personages made their appearance. 

The person of old Pash has been already parenthetically de- 
scribed. But quite different from her dismal niece in temperament, 
she is as jolly an old widow as ever wore weeds. She was attached 
somehow to the Court, and has a multiplicity of stories about the 
princesses and the old King, to which Mrs. Berry never fails to 
call your attention in her grave, important way. Lady Pash has 
ridden many a time to the Windsor hounds ; she made her husband 
become a member of the Four-in-hand Club, and has numberless 
stories about Sir Godfrey Webster, Sir John Lade, and the old 
heroes of those times. She has lent a rouleau to Dick Sheridan, 
and remembers Lord Byron when he was a sulky slim young lad. 
She says Charles Fox was the pleasantest fellow she ever met with, 
and has not the slightest objection to inform you that one of the 
princes was very much in love with her. Yet somehow she is only 
fifty-two years old, and I have never been able to understand her 
calculation. One day or other before her eye went out, and before 
those pearly teeth of hers were stuck to her gums by gold, she must 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 489 

have been a pretty-looking body enough. Yet, in spite of the latter 
inconvenience, she eats and drinks too much every day, and tosses 
off a glass of maraschino with a trembling pudgy hand, every finger 
of which twinkles with a dozen, at least, of old rings. She has a 
story about every one of those rings, and a stupid one too. But 
there is always something pleasant, I think, in stupid family stories : 
they are good-hearted people who tell them. 

As for Mrs. Muchit, nothing need be said of her ; she is Pash’s 
companion ; she has lived with Lady Pash since the peace. Nor 
does my lady take any more notice of her than of the dust of the 
earth. She calls her “poor Muchit,” and considers her a half- 
witted creature. Mrs. Berry hates her cordially, and thinks she 
is a designing toad-eater, who has formed a conspiracy to rob her 
of her aunt’s fortune. She never spoke a word to poor Muchit 
during the whole of dinner, or offered to help her to anything on 
the table. 

In respect to Dobus, he is an old Peninsular man, as you are 
made to know before you have been very long in his company ; and, 
like most army surgeons, is a great deal more military in his looks 
and conversation, than the combatant part of the forces. He has 
adopted the sham-Duke-of-Wellington air, which is by no means 
uncommon in veterans ; and, though one of the easiest and softest 
fellows in existence, speaks slowly and briefly, and raps out an oath 
or two occasionally, as it is said a certain great captain does. 
Besides the above, we sat down to table with Captain Goff, late of 

the Highlanders ; the Reverend Lemuel Whey, who preaches 

at St. Germains; little Cutler, aud the Frenchman, who always 
will be at English parties on the Continent, and who, after making 
some frightful efforts to speak English, subsides and is heard no 
more. Young married ladies and heads of families generally have 
him for the purpose of waltzing, and in return he informs his friends 
of the club or the cafd that he has made the conquest of a 
charmante Anglaise. Listen to me, all family men who read this ! 
and never let an unmarried Frenchman into your doors. This 
lecture alone is worth the price of the book. It is not that they do 
any harm in one case out of a thousand, Heaven forbid ! but they 
mean harm. They look on our Susannas with unholy dishonest 
eyes. Hearken to two of the grinning rogues chattering together 
as they clink over the asphalte of the Boulevard with lacquered 
boots, and plastered hair, and waxed moustaches, and turned-down 
shirt-collars, and stays and goggling eyes, and hear how they talk of 
a good simple giddy vain dull Baker Street creature, and canvass 
her points, and show her letters, and insinuate — never mind, but I 
tell you my soul grows angry when I think of the same; and I 


MEN’S WIVES 


490 

can’t hear of an Englishwoman marrying a Frenchman without 
feeling a sort of shame and pity for her.* 

To return to the guests. The Reverend Lemuel Whey is a tea- 
party man, with a curl on his forehead and a scented pocket-hand- 
kerchief. He ties his white neckcloth to a wonder, and I believe 
sleeps in it. He brings his flute with him ; and prefers Handel, of 
course; but has one or two pet profane songs of the sentimental 
kind, and will occasionally lift up his little pipe in a glee. He does 
not dance, but the honest fellow would give the world to do it ; and 
he leaves his clogs in the passage, though it is a wonder he wears 
them, for in the muddiest weather he never has a speck on his foot. 
He was at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and was rather gay for a 
term or two, he says. He is, in a word, full of the milk-and-water 
of human kindness, and his family lives near Hackney. 

As for Goff, he has a huge shining bald forehead, and immense 
bristling Indian-red whiskers. He wears white wash-leather gloves, 
drinks fairly, likes a rubber, and has a story for after dinner, 
beginning, “ Doctor, ye racklackt Sandy M‘Lellan, who joined us in 
the West Indies. Wal, sir,” &c. These and little Cutler made up 
the party. 

Now it may not have struck all readers, but any sharp fellow 
conversant with writing must have found out long ago, that if there 
had been something exceedingly interesting to narrate with regard 
to this dinner at Frank Berry’s, I should have come out with it 
a couple of pages since, nor have kept the public looking for so long 
a time at the dish-covers and ornaments of the table. 

But the simple fact must now be told, that there was nothing 
of the slightest importance occurred at this repast, except that it 
gave me an opportunity of studying Mrs. Berry in many different 
ways; and, in spite of the extreme complaisance which she now 
showed me, of forming, I am sorry to say, a most unfavourable opinion 
of that fair lady. Truth to tell, I would much rather she should 
have been civil to Mrs. Muchit, than outrageously complimentary 
to your humble servant ; and as she professed not to know what 
on earth there was for dinner, would it not have been much more 
natural for her not to frown, and bob, and wink, and point, and 
pinch her lips as often as Monsieur Anatole, her French domestic, 


* Every person who has lived abroad can, of course, point out a score of 
honourable exceptions to the case above hinted at, and knows many such 
unions in which it is the Frenchman who honours the English lady by marry- 
ing her. But it must be remembered that marrying in France means com- 
monly fortune-hunting : and as for the respect in which marriage is held in 
France, let all the French novels in M. Rolandi’s library be perused by those 
who wish to come to a decision upon the question. 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 491 

not knowing the ways of English dinner-tables, placed anything out 
of its due order 1 The allusions to Boodle Hall were innumerable, 
and I don’t know any greater bore than to be obliged to talk of a 
place which belongs to one’s elder brother. Many questions were 
likewise asked about the dowager and her Scotch relatives, the 
Plumduffs, about whom Lady Pash knew a great deal, having seen 
them at Court and at Lord Melville’s. Of course she had seen 
them at Court and at Lord Melville’s, as she might have seen 
thousands of Scotchmen besides ; but what mattered it to me, who 
care not a jot for old Lady Fitz-Boodle % “ When you write, you’ll 

say you met an old friend of her Ladyship’s,” says Mrs. Berry, and 
I faithfully promised I would when I wrote ; but if the New Post 
Office paid us for writing letters (as very possibly it will soon), I 
could not be bribed to send a line to old Lady Fitz. 

In a word, I found that Berry, like many simple fellows before 
him, had made choice of an imperious, ill-humoured, and underbred 
female for a wife, and could see with half an eye that he was a 
great deal too much her slave. 

The struggle was not over yet, however. Witness that little 
encounter before dinner ; and once or twice the honest fellow replied 
rather smartly during the repast, taking especial care to atone as 
much as possible for his wife’s inattention to Jack and Mrs. Muchit, 
by particular attention to those personages, whom he helped to 
everything round about and pressed perpetually to champagne ; he 
drank but little himself, for his amiable wife’s eye was constantly 
fixed on him. 

Just at the conclusion of the dessert, madame, who had bonded 
Berry during dinner-time, became particularly gracious to her lord 
and master, and tenderly asked me if I did not think the French 
custom was a good one,* of men leaving table with the ladies. 

“Upon my word, ma’am,” says I, “I think it’s a most 
abominable practice.” 

“ And so do I,” says Cutler. 

“ A most abominable practice ! Do you hear that ? ” cries 
Berry, laughing, and filling his glass. 

“ I’m sure, Frank, when we are alone you always come to the 
drawing-room,” replies the lady sharply. 

“ Oh yes ! when we’re alone, darling,” says Berry, blushing ; 
“ but now we’re not alone — ha, ha ! Anatole, du bordeaux ! ” 

“ I’m sure they sat after the ladies at Carlton House ; didn’t 
they, Lady Pash 'i ” says Dobus, who likes his glass. 

“ That they did ! ” says my Lady, giving him a jolly nod. 

“I racklackt,” exclaims Captain Goff, “when I was in the 
Mauritius, that Mestress MacWhirter, who commanded the Saxty- 


MEN’S WIVES 


492 

Sackond, used to say, ‘ Mac, if ye want to get lively, ye’ll not stop 
for more than two hours after the leddies have laft ye : if ye want 
to get drunk, ye’ll just dine at the mass.’ So ye see, Mestress 
Barry, what was Mac’s allowance — haw, haw ! Mester Whey, I’ll 
trouble ye for the o-lives.” 

But although we were in a clear majority, that indomitable 
woman, Mrs. Berry, determined to make us all as uneasy as 
possible, and would take the votes all round. Poor Jack, of course, 
sided with her, and Whey said he loved a cup of tea and a little 
music better than all the wine of Bordeaux. As for the Frenchman, 
when Mrs. Berry said, “ And what do you think, M. le Vicomte ? ” 

“Vat you speak'?” said M. de Blagueval, breaking silence for 
the first time during two hours. “ Yase — eh 1 ? to me you speak 1 ?” 

“ Apry deeny, aimy-voo ally avec les dam ? ” 

“ Comment avec les dames ? ” 

“ Ally avec les dam com a Parry, ou resty avec les Messew com 
on Onglyterre ? ” 

“ Ah, madame ! vous me le ddmandez 'l ” cries the little wretch, 
starting up in a theatrical way, and putting out his hand, which 
Mrs. Berry took, and with this the ladies left the room. Old Lady 
Pash trotted after her niece with her hand in Whey’s, very much 
wondering at such practices, which were not in the least in vogue 
in the reign of George III. 

Mrs. Berry cast a glance of triumph at her husband, at the 
defection ; and Berry was evidently annoyed that three-eighths of 
his male forces had left him. 

But fancy our delight and astonishment, when in a minute they 
all three came back again ; the Frenchman looking entirely astonished, 
and the parson and the painter both very queer. The fact is, old 
downright Lady Pash, who had never been in Paris in her life before, 
and had no notion of being deprived of her usual hour’s respite and 
nap, said at once to Mrs. Berry, “ My dear Angelica, you’re surely 
not going to keep these three men here? Send them back to 
the dining-room, for I’ve a thousand things to say to you.” And 
Angelica, who expects to inherit her aunt’s property, of course did 
as she was bid ; on which the old lady fell into an easy-chair, and 
fell asleep immediately,— so soon, that is, as the shout caused by 
the reappearance of the three gentlemen in the dining-room had 
subsided. 

I had meanwhile had some private conversation with little Cutler 
regarding the character of Mrs. Berry. “ She’s a regular screw,” 
whispered he; “a regular Tartar. Berry shows fight, though, 
sometimes, and I’ve known him have his own way for a week 
together. After dinner he is his own master, and hers when he 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 493 

has had his share of wine ; and that’s why she will never allow him 
to drink any.” 

Was it a wicked, or was it a noble and honourable thought 
which came to us both at the same minute, to rescue Berry from his 
captivity? The ladies, of course, will give their verdict according 
to their gentle natures ; but I know what men of courage will think, 
and by their jovial judgment w T ill abide. 

We received, then, the three lost sheep back into our innocent 
fold again with the most joyous shouting and cheering. We made 
Berry (who was, in truth, nothing loth) order up I don’t know how 
much more claret. We obliged the Frenchman to drink malgre lui , 
and in the course of a short time we had poor Whey in such a state 
of excitement, that he actually volunteered to sing a song, which he 
said he had heard at some very gay supper-party at Cambridge, and 
which begins : — 


* A pye sat on a pear-tree, 

A pye sat on a pear-tree, 

A pye sat on a pear-tree, 

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! ” 

Fancy Mrs. Berry’s face as she looked in, in the midst of that 
Bacchanalian ditty, when she saw no less a person than the Reverend 
Lemuel Whey carolling it ! 

“Is it you, my dear?” cries Berry, as brave now as any 
Petruchio. “ Come in, and sit down, and hear Whey’s song.” 

“ Lady Pash is asleep, Frank,” said she. 

“ Well, darling ! that’s the very reason. Give Mrs. Berry a 
glass, Jack, will you ? ” 

“ Would you wake your aunt, sir? ” hissed out madame. 

“ Never mind me , love ! Fm awake, and like it 1 ” cried the 
venerable Lady Pash from the salon. “ Sing away, gentlemen ! ” 

At which we all set up an audacious cheer; and Mrs. Berry 
flounced back to the drawing-room, but did not leave the door open, 
that her aunt might hear our melodies. 

Berry had by this time arrived at that confidential state to 
which a third bottle always brings the well-regulated mind ; and he 
made a clean confession to Cutler and myself of his numerous matri- 
monial annoyances. He was not allowed to dine out, he said, and 
but seldom to ask his friends to meet him at home. He never dared 
smoke a cigar for the life of him, not even in the stables. He spent 
the mornings dawdling in eternal shops, the evenings at endless tea- 
parties, or in reading poems or missionary tracts to his wife. He 
was compelled to take physic whenever she thought he looked a 
little pale, to change his shoes and stockings whenever he came in 


MEN’S WIVES 


494 

from a walk. “ Look here,” said he, opening his chest, and shaking 
his fist at Dobus ; “ look what Angelica and that infernal Dobus 
have brought me to.” 

I thought it might be a flannel waistcoat into which madame 
had forced him ; but it was worse : I give you my word of honour 
it was a pitch-plaster / 

We all roared at this, and the doctor as loud as any one ; but he 
vowed that he had no hand in the pitch-plaster. It was a favourite 
family remedy of the late apothecary Sir George Catacomb, and had 
been put on by Mrs. Berry’s own fair hands. 

When Anatole came in with coffee, Berry was in such high 
courage, that he told him to go to the deuce with it ; and we never 
caught sight of Lady Pash more, except when, muffled up to the 
nose, she passed through the salle-a-manger to go to her carriage, 
in which Dobus and the parson were likewise to be transported to 
Paris. “Be a man, Frank,” says she, “and hold your own” — for 
the good old lady had taken her nephew’s part in the matrimonial 
business — “ and you, Mr. Fitz-Boodle, come and see him often. 
You’re a good fellow, take old one-eyed Callipash’s word for it. 
Shall I take you to Paris 1 ” 

Dear kind Angelica, she had told her aunt all I said ! 

“ Don’t go, George,” says Berry, squeezing me by the hand. So 
I said I was going to sleep at Versailles that night; but if she 
would give a convoy to Jack Butts, it would be conferring a great 
obligation on him; with which favour the old lady accordingly 
complied, saying to him, with great coolness, “ Get up and sit with 
John in the rumble, Mr. What-d’ye-call-’im.” The fact is, the good 
old soul despises an artist as much as she does a tailor. 

Jack tripped to his place very meekly ; and “ Remember Satur- 
day,” cried the Doctor; and “Don’t forget Thursday,” exclaimed 
the divine, — “a bachelor’s party, you know.” And so the cavalcade 
drove thundering down the gloomy old Avenue de Paris. 

The Frenchman, I forgot to say, had gone away exceedingly ill 
long before ; and the reminiscences of “ Thursday ” and “ Saturday ” 
evoked by Dobus and Whey, were, to tell the truth, parts of our 
conspiracy ; for in the heat of Berry’s courage, we had made him 
promise to dine with us all round en gargon ; with all except Captain 
Goff, who “ racklacted ” that he was engaged every day for the 
next three weeks : as indeed he is, to a thirty-sous ordinary which 
the gallant officer frequents, when not invited elsewhere. 

Cutler and I then were the last on the field ; and though we 
were for moving away, Berry, whose vigour had, if possible, been 
excited by the bustle and colloquy in the night air, insisted upon 
dragging us back again, and actually proposed a grill for supper ! 


MR. AND MRS. FRANK BERRY 495 

We found in the salle-a-manger a strong smell of an extinguished 
lamp, and Mrs Berry was snuffing out the candles on the sideboard. 

“ Hullo, my dear ! ” shouts Berry : “ easy, if you please ; we’ve 
not done yet ! ” 

“ Not done yet, Mr Berry!” groans the lady, in a hollow 
sepulchral tone. 

“ No, Mrs. B., not done yet. We are going to have some supper, 
ain’t we, George % ” 

“ I think it’s quite time to go home,” said Mr. Fitz-Boodle (who, 
to say the truth, began to tremble himself). 

“ I think it is, sir ; you are quite right, sir ; you will pardon 
me, gentlemen, I have a bad headache, and will retire.” 

“ Good night, my dear ! ” said that audacious Berry. “ Anatole, 
tell the cook to broil a fowl and bring some wine.” 

If the loving couple had been alone, or if Cutler had not been 
an attach^ to the embassy, before whom she was afraid of making 
herself ridiculous, I am confident that Mrs. Berry would have fainted 
away on the spot ; and that all Berry’s courage would have tumbled 
down lifeless by the side of her. So she only gave a martyrised look, 
and left the room ; and while we partook of the very unnecessary 
repast, was good enough to sing some hymn-tunes to an exceedingly 
slow movement in the next room, intimating that she was awake, 
and that, though suffering, she found her consolations in religion. 

These melodies did not in the least add to our friend’s courage. 
The devilled fowl had, somehow, no devil in it. The champagne in 
the glasses looked exceedingly flat and blue. The fact is, that 
Cutler and I were now both in a state of dire consternation, and 
soon made a move for our hats, and lighting each a cigar in the 
hall, made across the little green where the Cupids and nymphs 
were listening to the dribbling fountain in the dark. 

“ I’m hanged if I don’t have a cigar too ! ” says Berry, rushing 
after us ; and accordingly putting in his pocket a key about the size 
of a shovel, which hung by the little handle of the outer grille, forth 
he sallied, and joined us in our fumigation. 

He stayed with us a couple of hours, and returned homewards 
in perfect good spirits, having given me his word of honour he 
would dine with us the next day. He put his immense key into 
the grille, and unlocked it ; but the gate would not open : it was 
bolted within. 

He began to make a furious jangling and ringing at the bell ; 
and in oaths, both French and English, called upon the recalcitrant 
Anatole. 

After much tolling of the bell, a light came cutting across the 
crevices of the inner door; it was thrown open, and a figure 


MEN’S WIVES 


496 


appeared with a lamp, — a tall slim figure of a woman, clothed 
in white from head to foot. 

It was Mrs. Berry, and when Cutler and I saw her, we both 
ran away as fast as our legs could carry us. 

Berry, at this, shrieked with a wild laughter. “ Remember 
to-morrow, old boys,” shouted he, — “six o’clock;” and we were 
a quarter of a mile off when the gate closed, and the little mansion 
of the Avenue de Paris was once more quiet and dark. 

The next afternoon, as we were playing at billiards, Cutler saw 
Mrs. Berry drive by in her carriage ; and as soon as rather a long 
rubber was over, I thought I would go and look for our poor 
friend, and so went down to the Pavilion. Every door was open, 
as the wont is in France, and I walked in unannounced, and saw 
this : 

He was playing a duet with her on the flute. She had been 
out but for half-an-hour, after not speaking all the morning ; and 
having seen Cutler at the billiard-room window, and suspecting we 
might take advantage of her absence, she had suddenly returned 
home again, and had flung herself, weeping, into her Frank’s arms, 
and said she could not bear to leave him in anger. And so, after 
sitting for a little while sobbing on his knee, she had forgotten and 
forgiven everything ! 

The dear angel ! I met poor Frank in Bond Street only yester- 
day ; but he crossed over to the other side of the way. He had 
on goloshes, and is grown very fat and pale. He has shaved off 
his moustaches, and, instead, wears a respirator. He has taken 
his name off all his clubs, and lives very grimly in Baker Street. 
W ell, ladies, no doubt you say he is right : and what are the odds, 
so long as you are happy 1 


DENNIS HAGG ARTY'S WIFE 


T HERE was an odious Irishwoman who with her daughter 
used to frequent the “ Royal Hotel ” at Leamington some 
years ago, and who went by the name of Mrs. Major Gam. 
Gam had been a distinguished officer in his Majesty’s service, 
whom nothing but death and his own amiable wife could overcome. 
The widow mourned her husband in the most becoming bombazeen 
she could muster, and had at least half an inch of lampblack round 
the immense visiting tickets which she left at the houses of the 
nobility and gentry her friends. 

Some of us, I am sorry to say, used to call her Mrs. Major 
Gammon ; for if the worthy widow had a propensity, it was to 
talk largely of herself and family (of her own family, for she held 
her husband’s very cheap), and of the wonders of her paternal 
mansion, Molloyville, county of Mayo. She was of the Molloys 
of that county; and though I never heard of the family before, I 
have little doubt, from what Mrs. Major Gam stated, that they 
were the most ancient and illustrious family of that part of Ireland. 
I remember there came down to see his aunt a young fellow with 
huge red whiskers and tight nankeens, a green coat, and an awful 
breastpin, who, after two days’ stay at the Spa, proposed marriage 

to Miss S , or, in default, a duel with her father; and who 

drove a flash curricle with a bay and a grey, and who was pre- 
sented with much pride by Mrs. Gam as Castlereagh Molloy of 
Molloyville. We all agreed that he was the most insufferable snob 
of the whole season, and were delighted when a bailiff came down 
in search of him. 

Well, this is all I know personally of the Molloyville family ; 
but at the house if you met the widow Gam, and talked on any 
subject in life, you were sure to hear of it. If you asked her to 
have peas at dinner, she would say, “Oh, sir, after the peas at 
Molloyville, I really don’t care for any others, — do I, dearest 
Jemima? We always had a dish in the month of June, when my 
father gave his head gardener a guinea (we had three at Molloyville), 
and sent him with his compliments and a quart of peas to our 


MEN’S WIVES 


498 

neighbour, dear Lord Marrowfat. What a sweet place Marrowfat 
Park is ! isn’t it, Jemima 1 ” If a carriage passed by the window. 
Mrs. Major Gammon would be sure to tell you that there were three 
carriages at Molloyville, “the barouche, the chawiot, and the 
covered cyar.” In the same manner she would favour you with the 
number and names of the footmen of the establishment; and on a 
visit to Warwick Castle (for this bustling woman made one in every 
party of pleasure that was formed from the hotel), she gave us to 
understand that the great walk by the river was altogether inferior 
to the principal avenue of Molloyville Park. I should not have 
been able to tell so much about Mrs. Gam and her daughter, but 
that, between ourselves, I was particularly sweet upon a young lady 
at the time, whose papa lived at the “ Royal,” and was under the 
care of Doctor Jephson. 

The Jemima appealed to by Mrs. Gam in the above sentence 
was, of course, her daughter, apostrophised by her mother, “Jemima, 
my soul’s darling ! ” or, “ Jemima, my blessed child ! ” or, “Jemima, 
my own love ! ” The sacrifices that Mrs. Gam had made for that 
daughter were, she said, astonishing. The money she had spent in 
masters upon her, the illnesses through which she had nursed her, 
the ineffable love the mother bore her, were only known to Heaven, 
Mrs. Gam said. They used to come into the room with their arms 
round each other’s waists : at dinner between the courses the mother 
would sit with one hand locked in her daughter’s ; and if only two 
or three young men were present at the time, would be pretty sure 
to kiss her J emima more than once during the time whilst the bohea 
was poured out. 

As for Miss Gam, if she was not handsome, candour forbids me 
to say she was ugly. She was neither one nor t’other. She was 
a person who wore ringlets and a band round her forehead ; she 
knew four songs, which became rather tedious at the end of a couple 
of months’ acquaintance ; she had excessively bare shoulders ; she 
inclined to wear numbers of cheap ornaments, rings, brooches, ferron- 
nieres, smelling-bottles, and was always, we thought, very smartly 
dressed : though old Mrs. Lynx hinted that her gowns and her 
mother’s were turned over and over again, and that her eyes were 
almost put out by darning stockings. 

These eyes Miss Gam had very large, though rather red and 
weak, and used to roll them about at every eligible unmarried man 
in the place. But though the widow subscribed to all the balls, 
though she hired a fly to go to the meet of the hounds, though she 
was constant at church, and Jemima sang louder than any person 
there except the clerk, and though, probably, any person who made 
her a happy husband would be invited down to enjoy the three 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 


m 

footmen, gardeners, and carriages at Molloyville, yet no English 
gentleman was found sufficiently audacious to propose. Old Lynx 
used to say that the pair had been at Tunbridge, Harrowgate, 
Brighton, Ramsgate, Cheltenham, for this eight years past; where 
they had met, it seemed, with no better fortune. Indeed, the 
widow looked rather high for her blessed child : and as she looked 
with the contempt which no small number of Irish people feel upon 
all persons who get their bread by labour or commerce ; and as she 
was a person whose energetic manners, costume, and brogue were 
not much to the taste of quiet English country gentlemen, Jemima 
— sweet, spotless flower — still remained on her hands, a thought 
withered, perhaps, and seedy. 

Now, at this time, the 120th Regiment was quartered at 
Weedon Barracks, and with the corps was a certain Assistant- 
Surgeon Haggarty, a large, lean, tough, raw-boned man, with big 
hands, knock-knees, and carroty whiskers, and, withal, as honest a 
creature as ever handled a lancet. Haggarty, as his name imports, 
was of the very same nation as Mrs. Gam, and, what is more, the 
honest fellow had some of the peculiarities which belonged to the 
widow, and bragged about his family almost as much as she did. 
I do not know of what particular part of Ireland they were kings ; 
but monarchs they must have been, as have been the ancestors of 
so many thousand Hibernian families ; but they had been men of 
no small consideration in Dublin, “where my father,” Haggarty 
said, “is as well known as King William’s statue, and where he 
‘ rowls his carriage, too,’ let me tell ye.” 

Hence, Haggarty was called by the wags “ Rowl the carriage,” 
and several of them made inquiries of Mrs. Gam regarding him : 
“ Mrs. Gam, when you used to go up from Molloyville to the Lord 
Lieutenant’s balls, and had your town-house in Fitzwilliam Square, 
used you to meet the famous Doctor Haggarty in society ? ” 

“Is it Surgeon Haggarty of Gloucester Street ye mean ? The 
black Papist ! D’ye suppose that the Molloys would sit down to 
table with a creature of that sort ? ” 

“Why, isn’t he the most famous physician in Dublin, and 
doesn’t he rowl his carriage there ? ” 

“ The horrid wretch ! He keeps a shop, I tell ye, and sends 
his sons out with the medicine. He’s got four of them off into 
the army, Ulick and Phil, and Terence and Denny, and now it’s 
Charles that takes out the physic. But how should I know about 
these odious creatures'? Their mother was a Burke, of Burke’s 
Town, county Cavan, and brought Surgeon Haggarty two thousand 
pounds. She was a Protestant ; and I am surprised how she could 
have taken up with a horrid odious Popish apothecary ! ” 


500 


MEN’S WIVES 


From the extent of the widow’s information, I am led to sup- 
pose that the inhabitants of Dublin are not less anxious about 
their neighbours than are the natives of English cities; and I 
think it is very probable that Mrs. Gam’s account of the young 
Haggartys who carried out the medicine is perfectly correct, for a 
lad in the 120th made a caricature of Haggarty coming out of a 
chemist’s shop with an oilcloth basket under his arm, which set 
the worthy surgeon in such a fury that there would have been a 
duel between him and the ensign, could the fiery doctor have had 
his way. 

Now, Dionysius Haggarty was of an exceedingly inflammable 
temperament, and it chanced that of all the invalids, the visitors, 
the young squires of Warwickshire, the young manufacturers from 
Birmingham, the young officers from the barracks — it chanced, 
unluckily for Miss Gam and himself, that he was the only indi- 
vidual who was in the least smitten by her personal charms. He 
was very tender and modest about his love, however, for it must 
be owned that he respected Mrs. Gam hugely, and fully admitted, 
like a good simple fellow as he was, the superiority of that lady’s 
birth and breeding to his own. How could he hope that he, a 
humble assistant-surgeon, with a thousand pounds his Aunt Kitty 
left him for all his fortune — how could he hope that one of the 
race of Molloyville would ever condescend to marry him ? 

Inflamed, however, by love, and inspired by wine, one day at 
a picnic at Kenilworth, Haggarty, whose love and raptures were 
the talk of the whole regiment, was induced by his waggish com- 
rades to make a proposal in form. 

“Are you aware, Mr. Haggarty, that you are speaking to a 
Molloy 1 ” was all the reply majestic Mrs. Gam made when, accord- 
ing to the usual formula, the fluttering Jemima referred her suitor 
to “Mamma.” She left him with a look which was meant to 
crush the poor fellow to earth; she gathered up her cloak and 
bonnet, and precipitately called for her fly. She took care to tell 
every single soul in Leamington that the son of the odious Papist 
apothecary had had the audacity to propose for her daughter 
(indeed a proposal, coming from whatever quarter it may, does 
no harm), and left Haggarty in a state of extreme depression and 
despair. 

His down-heartedness, indeed, surprised most of his acquaint- 
ances in and out of the regiment, for the young lady was no 
beauty, and a doubtful fortune, and Dennis was a man outwardly 
of an unromantic turn, who seemed to have a great deal more 
liking for beefsteak and whisky-punch than for women, however 
fascinating. 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 501 

But there is no doubt this shy uncouth rough fellow had a 
warmer and more faithful heart hid within him than many a dandy 
who is as handsome as Apollo. I, for my part, never can under- 
stand why a man falls in love, and heartily give him credit for 
so doing, never mind with what or whom. That I take to be 
a point quite as much beyond an individual’s own control as the 
catching of the small-pox or the colour of his hair. To the surprise 
of all, Assistant-Surgeon Dionysius Haggarty was deeply and seri- 
ously in love ; and I am told that one day he very nearly killed 
the before-mentioned young ensign with a carving-knife, for ventur- 
ing to make a second caricature, representing Lady Gammon and 
Jemima in a fantastical park, surrounded by three gardeners, three 
carriages, three footmen, and the covered cyar. He would have 
no joking concerning them. He became moody and quarrelsome 
of habit. He was for some time much more in the surgery and 
hospital than in the mess. He gave up the eating, for the most part, 
of those vast quantities of beef and pudding, for which his stomach 
used to afford such ample and swift accommodation ; and when the 
cloth was drawn, instead of taking twelve tumblers, and singing Irish 
melodies, as he used to do, in a horrible cracked yelling voice, he 
would retire to his own apartment, or gloomily pace the barrack-yard, 
or madly whip and spur a grey mare he had on the road to Leam- 
ington, where his Jemima (although invisible for him) still dwelt. 

The season at Leamington coming to a conclusion by the with- 
drawal of the young fellows who frequented that watering-place, the 
widow Gam retired to her usual quarters for the other months of the 
year. Where these quarters were, I think we have no right to ask, 
for I believe she had quarrelled with her brother at Molloyville, and 
besides, was a great deal too proud to be a burden on anybody. 

Not only did the widow quit Leamington, but very soon after- 
wards the 120th received its marching orders, and left Weedon and 
Warwickshire. Haggarty’s appetite was by this time partially re- 
stored, but his love was not altered, and his humour was still morose 
and gloomy. I am informed that at this period of his life he wrote 
some poems relative to his unhappy passion ; a wild set of verses of 
several lengths, and in his handwriting, being discovered upon a 
sheet of paper in which a pitch-plaster was wrapped up, which Lieu- 
tenant and Adjutant Wheezer was compelled to put on for a cold. 

Fancy then, three years afterwards, the surprise of all Hag- 
garty’s acquaintances on reading in the public papers the following 
announcement : — 

“Married, at Monkstowm on the 12th instant, Dionysius Hag- 
garty, Esq., of H.M. 120th Foot, to Jemima Amelia Wilhelmina 


502 


MEN’S WIVES 


Molloy, daughter of the late Major Lancelot Gam, R.M., and 
grand-daughter of the late, and niece of the present Burke Bodkin 
Blake Molloy, Esq., Molloy ville, county Mayo.” 

“ Has the course of true love at last begun to run smooth ? ” 
thought I, as I laid down the paper; and the old times, and the 
old leering bragging widow, and the high shoulders of her daughter, 
and the jolly days with the 120th, and Doctor Jephson’s one-horse 

chaise, and the Warwickshire hunt, and — and Louisa S , but 

never mind her , — came back to my mind. Has that good-natured 
simple fellow at last met with his reward? Well, if he has not 
to marry the mother-in-law too, he may get on well enough. 

Another year announced the retirement of Assistant-Surgeon 
Haggarty from the 120th, where he was replaced by Assistant- 
Surgeon Angus Rothsay Leech, a Scotchman, probably ; with 
whom I have not the least acquaintance, and who has nothing 
whatever to do with this little history. 

Still more years passed on, during which time I will not say 
that I kept a constant watch upon the fortunes of Mr. Haggarty 
and his lady; for, perhaps, if the truth were known, I never 
thought for a moment about them ; until one day, being at Kings- 
town, near Dublin, dawdling on the beach, and staring at the Hill 
of Howth, as most people at that watering-place do, I saw coming 
towards me a tall gaunt man, with a pair of bushy red whiskers, 
of which I thought I had seen the like in former years, and a face 
which could be no other than Haggarty’s. It was Haggarty, ten 
years older than when we last met, and greatly more grim and 
thin. He had on one shoulder a young gentleman in a dirty tartan 
costume, and a face exceedingly like his own peeping from under 
a battered plume of black feathers, while with his other hand he 
was dragging a light green go-cart, in which reposed a female infant 
of some two years old. Both were roaring with great power of 
lungs. 

As soon as Dennis saw me, his face lost the dull puzzled expres- 
sion which had seemed to characterise it ; he dropped the pole of the 
go-cart from one hand, and his son from the other, and came jumping 
forward to greet me with all his might, leaving his progeny roaring 
in the road. 

Bless my sowl,” says he, “ sure it’s Fitz-Boodle ? Fitz, don’t 
you remember me 1 Dennis Haggarty of the 120th ? Leamington, 
you know? Molloy, my boy, hould your tongue, and stop your 
screeching, and Jemima’s too; d’ye hear? Well, it does good to 
sore eyes to see an old face. How fat you’re grown, Fitz : and 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 503 

were ye ever in Ireland before 1 ? and a’n’t ye delighted with it ? 
Confess, now, isn’t it beautiful h ” 

This question regarding the merits of their country, which I have 
remarked is put by most Irish persons, being answered in a satis- 
factory manner, and the shouts of the infants appeased from an 
apple-stall hard by, Dennis and I talked of old times ; I congratulated 
him on his marriage with the lovely girl whom we all admired, and 
hoped he had a fortune with her, and so forth. His appearance, 
however, did not bespeak a great fortune : he had an old grey hat, 
short old trousers, an old waistcoat with regimental buttons, and 
patched Blucher boots, such as are not usually sported by persons in 
easy life. 

“ Ah ! ” says he, with a sigh, in reply to my queries, “ times are 
changed since them days, Fitz-Boodle. My wife’s not what she was 
— the beautiful creature you knew her. Molloy, my boy, run off in 
a hurry to your mamma, and tell her an English gentleman is coming 
home to dine ; for you’ll dine with me, Fitz, in course 1 ” And I 
agreed to partake of that meal ; though Master Molloy altogether 
declined to obey his papa’s orders with respect to announcing the 
stranger. 

“ Well, I must announce you myself,” said Haggarty, with a 
smile. “ Come, it’s just dinner-time, and my little cottage is not a 
hundred yards off.” Accordingly, we all marched in procession to 
Dennis’s little cottage, which was one of a row and a half of one- 
storied houses, with little courtyards before them, and mostly with 
very fine names on the doorposts of each. “ Surgeon Haggarty ” 
was emblazoned on Dennis’s gate, on a stained green copper-plate ; 
and, not content with this, on the doorpost above the bell was an 
oval with the inscription of “New Molloy ville.” The bell was 
broken, of course; the court, or garden-path, was mouldy, weedy, 
seedy ; there were some dirty rocks, by way of ornament, round a 
faded glass-plat in the centre, some clothes and rags hanging out of 
most part of the windows of New Molloy ville, the immediate entrance 
to which was by a battered scraper, under a broken trellis-work, up 
which a withered creeper declined any longer to climb. 

“ Small, but snug,” says Haggarty ; “ I’ll lead the way, Fitz ; 
put your hat on the flower-pot there, and turn to the left into the 
drawing-room.” A fog of onions and turf-smoke filled the whole of 
the house, and gave signs that dinner was not far off. Far off? 
You could hear it frizzling in the kitchen, where the maid was also 
endeavouring to hush the crying of a third refractory child. But as 
we entered, all three of Haggarty’s darlings were in full roar. 

“ Is it you, Dennis 1 ” cried a sharp raw voice, from a dark corner 
in the drawing-room to which we were introduced, and in which a 


504 


MEN’S WIVES 


dirty tablecloth was laid for dinner, some bottles of porter and a cold 
mutton-bone being laid out on a rickety grand piano hard by. “ Ye’re 
always late, Mr. Haggarty. Have you brought the whisky from 
Nowlan’s? I’ll go bail ye’ve not, now.” 

“ My dear, I’ve brought an old friend of yours and mine to take 
pot-luck with us to-day,” said Dennis. 

“ When is he to come ? ” said the lady. At which speech I was 
rather surprised, for I stood before her. 

“ Here he is, Jemima, my love,” answered Dennis, looking at 
me. “ Mr. Fitz-Boodle : don’t you remember him in Warwickshire, 
darling h ” 

“ Mr. Fitz-Boodle ! I am very glad to see him,” said the lady, 
rising and curtseying with much cordiality. 

Mrs. Haggarty was blind. 

Mrs. Haggarty was not only blind, but it was evident that 
small-pox had been the cause of her loss of vision. Her eyes were 
bound with a bandage, her features were entirely swollen, scarred 
and distorted by the horrible effects of the malady. She had been 
knitting in a corner when we entered, and was wrapped in a very 
dirty bedgown. Her voice to me was quite different to that in 
which she addressed her husband. She spoke to Haggarty in broad 
Irish : she addressed me in that most odious of all languages — Irish- 
English, endeavouring to the utmost to disguise her brogue, and to 
speak with the true dawdling distingue English air. 

“Are you long in I-a-land % ” said the poor creature in this 
accent. “You must faind it a sad ba’ba’ous place, Mr. Fitz-Boodle, 
I’m shu-ah ! It was vary kaind of you to come upon us en famille , 
and accept a dinner sans ceremonie. Mr. Haggarty, I hope you’ll 
put the waine into aice ; Mr. Fitz-Boodle must be melted with this 
hot weathah.” 

For some time she conducted the conversation in this polite 
strain, and I was obliged to say, in reply to a query of hers, that I 
did not find her the least altered, though I should never have recog- 
nised her but for this rencontre. She told Haggarty with a signifi- 
cant air to get the wine from the cellah, and whispered to me that 
he was his own butlah ; and the poor fellow, taking the hint, scudded 
away into the town for a pound of beefsteak and a couple of bottles 
of wine from the tavern. 

“Will the childhren get their potatoes and butther here ? ” said 
a barefoot girl, with long black hair flowing over her face, which 
she thrust in at the door. 

“ Let them sup in the nursery, Elizabeth, and send — ah ! 
Edwards to me.” 

“ Is it cook you mane, ma’am ? ” said the girl. 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 


505 


“ Send her at once ! ” shrieked the unfortunate woman ; and the 
noise of frying presently ceasing, a hot woman made her appearance, 
wiping her brows with her apron, and asking, with an accent 
decidedly Hibernian, what the misthress wanted. 

“ Lead me up to my dressing-room, Edwards : I really am not 
fit to be seen in this dishabille by Mr. Fitz-Boodle.” 

“ Fait’ I can’t ! ” says Edwards ; “ sure the masther’s out at the 
butcher’s, and can’t look to the kitchen-fire ! ” 

“ Nonsense, I must go ! ” cried Mrs. Haggarty ; and so Edwards, 
putting on a resigned air, and giving her arm and face a further rub 
with her apron, held out her arm to Mrs. Dennis, and the pair went 
upstairs. 

She left me to indulge my reflections for half-an-hour, at the 
end of which period she came downstairs dressed in an old yellow 
satin, with the poor shoulders exposed just as much as ever. She had 
mounted a tawdry cap, which Haggarty himself must have selected 
for her. She had all sorts of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings in gold 
in garnets, in mother-of-pearl, in ormolu. She brought in a furious 
savour of musk, which drove the odours of onions and turf-smoke 
before it ; and she waved across her wretched angular mean scarred 
features an old cambric handkerchief with a yellow lace-border. 

“ And so you would have known me anywhere, Mr. Fitz-Boodle? ” 
said she, with a grin that was meant to be most fascinating. “ I 
was sure you would ; for though my dreadful illness deprived me of 
my sight, it is a mercy that it did not change my features or com- 
plexion at all ! ” 

This mortification had been spared the unhappy woman ; but I 
don’t know whether, with all her vanity, her infernal pride, folly, 
and selfishness, it was charitable to leave her in her error. 

Yet why correct her? There is a quality in certain people 
which is above all advice, exposure, or correction. Only let a man 
or woman have dulness sufficient, and they need bow to no extant 
authority. A dullard recognises no betters ; a dullard can’t see 
that he is in the wrong ; a dullard has no scruples of conscience, no 
doubts of pleasing, or succeeding, or doing right; no qualms for 
other people’s feelings, no respect but for the fool himself. How 
can you make a fool perceive he is a fool? Such a personage can 
no more see his own folly than he can see his own ears. And the 
great quality of Dulness is to be unalterably contented with itself. 
What myriads of souls are there of this admirable sort, — selfish, 
stingy, ignorant, passionate, brutal; bad sons, mothers, fathers, 
never known to do kind actions ! 

To pause, however, in this disquisition, which was carrying us 
far off Kingstown, New Molloyville, Ireland — nay, into the wide 


506 


MEN’S WIVES 


world wherever Dulness inhabits — let it be stated that Mrs. Hag- 
garty, from my brief acquaintance with her and her mother, was 
of the order of persons just mentioned. There was an air of con- 
scious merit about her, very hard to swallow along with the in- 
famous dinner poor Dennis managed, after much delay, to get on 
the table. She did not fail to invite me to Molloyville, where she 
said her cousin would be charmed to see me ; and she told me 
almost as many anecdotes about that place as her mother used to 
impart on former days. I observed, moreover, that Dennis cut 
her the favourite pieces of the beefsteak, that she ate thereof with 
great gusto, and that she drank with similar eagerness of the various 
strong liquors at table. “We Irish ladies are all fond of a leetle 
glass of punch,” she said, with a playful air, and Dennis mixed her 
a powerful tumbler of such violent grog as I myself could swallow 
only with some difficulty. She talked of her suffering a great 
deal, of her sacrifices, of the luxuries to which she had been accus- 
tomed before marriage, — in a word, of a hundred of those themes 
on which some ladies are in the custom of enlarging when they 
wish to plague some husbands. 

But honest Dennis, far from being angry at this perpetual, 
wearisome, impudent recurrence to her own superiority, rather 
encouraged the conversation than otherwise. It pleased him to 
hear his wife discourse about her merits and family splendours. 
He was so thoroughly beaten down and henpecked, that he, as it 
were, gloried in his servitude, and fancied that his wife’s magnifi- 
cence reflected credit on himself. He looked towards me, who was 
half sick of the woman and her egotism, as if expecting me to ex- 
hibit the deepest sympathy, and flung me glances across the table 
as much as to say, “What a gifted creature my Jemima is, and 
what a fine fellow I am to be in possession of her ! ” When the 
children came down she scolded them, of course, and dismissed 
them abruptly (for which circumstance, perhaps, the writer of these 
pages was not in his heart very sorry), and, after having sat a 
preposterously long time, left us, asking whether we would have 
coffee there or in her boudoir. 

“ Oh ! here, of course,” said Dennis, with rather a troubled air, 
and in about ten minutes the lovely creature was led back to us 
again by “ Edwards,” and the coffee made its appearance. After 
coffee her husband begged her to let Mr. Fitz-Boodle hear her 
voice : “He longs for some of his old favourites.” 

“No! do you?” said she; and was led in triumph to the 
jingling old piano, and with a screechy wiry voice, sang those 
very abominable old ditties which I had heard her sing at Leam- 
ington ten years back, 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 


507 


Haggarty, as she sang, flung himself back in the chair delighted. 
Husbands always are, and with the same song, one that they have 
heard when they were nineteen years old, probably ; most English- 
men’s tunes have that date, and it is rather affecting, I think, to 
hear an old gentleman of sixty or seventy quavering the old ditty 
that was fresh when he was fresh and in his prime. If he has a 
musical wife, depend on it he thinks her old songs of 1788 are 
better than any he has heard since : in fact he has heard none 
since. When the old couple are in high good-humour the old 
gentleman will take the old lady round the waist, and say, “My 
dear, do sing me one of your own songs,” and she sits down and 
sings with her old voice, and, as she sings, the roses of her youth 
bloom again for a moment. Ranelagh resuscitates, and she is 
dancing a minuet in powder and a train. 

This is another digression. It was occasioned by looking at 
poor Dennis’s face while his wife was screeching (and, believe me, 
the former was the more pleasant occupation). Bottom tickled by 
the fairies could not have been in greater ecstasies. He thought 
the music was divine ; and had further reason for exulting in it, 
which was, that his wife was always in a good humour after singing, 
and never would sing but in that happy frame of mind. Dennis 
had hinted so much in our little colloquy during the ten minutes 
of his lady’s absence in the “ boudoir ” ; so, at the conclusion of 
each piece, we shouted “ Bravo ! ” and clapped our hands like 
mad. 

Such was my insight into the life of Surgeon Dionysius Hag- 
garty and his wife; and I must have come upon him at a favour- 
able moment too, for poor Dennis has spoken, subsequently, of our 
delightful evening at Kingstown, and evidently thinks to this day 
that his friend was fascinated by the entertainment there. His 
inward economy was as follows : he had his half-pay, a thousand 
pounds, about a hundred a year that his father left, and his wife 
had sixty pounds a year from the mother; which the mother, of 
course, never paid. He had no practice, for he was absorbed in 
attention to his Jemima and the children, whom he used to wash, 
to dress, to carry out, to walk, or to ride, as we have seen, and 
who could not have a servant, as their dear blind mother could 
never be left alone. Mrs. Haggarty, a great invalid, used to lie 
in bed till one, and have breakfast and hot luncheon there. A 
fifth part of his income was spent in having her wheeled about 
in a chair, by which it was his duty to walk daily for an allotted 
number of hours. Dinner would ensue, and the amateur clergy, 
who abound in Ireland, and of whom Mrs. Haggarty was a great 
admirer, lauded her everywhere as a model of resignation and 


508 MEN’S WIVES 

virtue, and praised beyond measure the admirable piety with which 
she bore her sufferings. 

Well, every man to his taste. It did not certainly appear to 
me that she was the martyr of the family. 

“The circumstances of my marriage with Jemima,” Dennis said 
to me, in some after conversations we had on this interesting subject, 
“ were the most romantic and touching you can conceive. You saw 
what an impression the dear girl had made upon me when we were 
at Weedon; for from the first day I set eyes on her, and heard her 
sing her delightful song of 1 Dark-eyed Maiden of Araby,’ I felt, and 
said to Turniquet of ours, that very night, that she was the dark- 
eyed maid of Araby for me — not that she was, you know, for she 
was born in Shropshire. But I felt that I had seen the woman 
who was to make me happy or miserable for life. You know how 
I proposed for her at Kenilworth, and how I was rejected, and how 
I almost shot myself in consequence — no, you don’t know that, for 
I said nothing about it to any one, but I can tell you it was a very 
near thing ; and a very lucky thing for me I didn’t do it : for, — 
would you believe it 1 — the dear girl was in love with me all the 
time.” 

“Was she really 1” said I, who recollected that Miss Gam’s 
love of those days showed itself in a very singular manner ; but the 
fact is, when women are most in love they most disguise it. 

“ Over head and ears in love with poor Dennis,” resumed that 
worthy fellow, “ who’d ever have thought it ? But I have it from 
the best authority, from her own mother, with whom I’m not over 
and above good friends now ; but of this fact she assured me, and 
I’ll tell you when and how. 

“We were quartered at Cork three years after we were at 
Weedon, and it was our last year at home ; and a great mercy that 
my dear girl spoke in time, or where should we have been now ? 
Well, one day, marching home from parade, I saw a lady seated at 
an open window, by another who seemed an invalid, and the lady at 
the window, who was dressed in the profoundest mourning, cried 
out, with a scream, ‘ Gracious heavens ! it’s Mr. Haggarty of the 
120th.’ 

“ ‘ Sure I know that voice,’ says I to Whiskerton. 

“ ‘ It’s a great mercy you don’t know it a deal too well,’ says 
he : ‘ it’s Lady Gammon. She’s on some husband-hunting scheme, 
depend on it, for that daughter of hers. She was at Bath last 
year on the same errand, and at Cheltenham the year before, 
where, Heaven bless you ! she’s as well known as the “ Hen and 
Chickens.” ’ 

“ ‘ I’ll thank you not to speak disrespectfully of Miss Jemima 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 509 

Gam,’ said I to Whiskerton; ‘she’s of one of the first families in 
Ireland, and whoever says a word against a woman I once proposed 
for, insults me, — do you understand 1 ’ 

“ ‘Well, marry her, if you like,’ says Whiskerton, quite peevish : 
‘ marry her, and be hanged ! ’ 

“ Marry her ! the very idea of it set my brain a-whirling, and 
made me a thousand times more mad than I am by nature. 

“You may be sure I walked up the hill to the parade-ground 
that afternoon, and with a beating heart too. I came to the widow’s 
house. It was called ‘New Molloyville,’ as this is. Wherever she 
takes a house for six months she calls it ‘New Molloyville’; and has 
had one in Mallow, in Bandon, in Sligo, in Castlebar, in Fermoy, in 
Drogheda, and the deuce knows where besides : but the blinds were 
down, and though I thought I saw somebody behind ’em, no notice 
was taken of poor Denny Haggarty, and I paced up and down all 
mess-time in hopes of catching a glimpse of Jemima, but in vain. 
The next day I was on the ground again ; I was just as much in 
love as ever, that’s the fact. I’d never been in that way before, 
look you ; and when once caught, I knew it was for life. 

“ There’s no use in telling you how long I beat about the bush, 
but when I did get admittance to the house (it was through the 
means of young Castlereagli Molloy, whom you may remember at 
Leamington, and who was at Cork for the regatta, and used to dine 
at our mess, and had taken a mighty fancy to me) — when I did 
get into the house, I say, I rushed in mediae res at once ; I couldn’t 
keep myself quiet, my heart was too full. 

“ Oh, Fitz ! I shall never forget the day, — the moment I was 
inthrojuiced into the dthrawing-room ” (as he began to be agitated, 
Dennis’s brogue broke out with greater richness than ever; but 
though a stranger may catch, and repeat from memory, a few words, 
it is next to impossible for him to keep up a conversation in 
Irish, so that we had best give up all attempts to imitate Dennis). 
“When I saw old mother Gam,” said he, “my feelings overcame 
me all at once. I rowled down on the ground, sir, as if I’d been 
hit by a musket-ball. ‘Dearest madam,’ says I, ‘I’ll die if you 
don’t give me Jemima.’ 

“ ‘ Heavens, Mr. Haggarty ! ’ says she, ‘ how you seize me with 
surprise ! Castlereagh, my dear nephew, had you not better leave 
us?’ and away he went, lighting a cigar, and leaving me still on 
the floor. 

“ ‘ Rise, Mr. Haggarty,’ continued the widow. ‘ I will not 
attempt to deny that this constancy towards my daughter is ex- 
tremely affecting, however sudden your present appeal may be. I 
will not attempt to deny that, perhaps, Jemima may have a similar 


510 MEN’S WIVES 

feeling; but, as I said, I never could give my daughter to a 
Catholic.’ 

“ ‘ I’m as good a Protestant as yourself, ma’am,’ says I; ‘my 
mother was an heiress, and we were all brought up her way.’ 

“ ‘ That makes the matter very different,’ says she, turning up 
the whites of her eyes. ‘ How could I ever have reconciled it to 
my conscience to see my blessed child married to a Papist ? How 
could I ever have taken him to Molloyville ? Well, this obstacle 
being removed, I must put myself no longer in the way between 
two young people. I must sacrifice myself ; as I always have when 
my darling girl was in question. You shall see her, the poor dear 
lovely gentle sufferer, and learn your fate from her own lips.’ 

“ ‘ The sufferer, ma’am,’ says I ; * has Miss Gam been ill ? ’ 

“ ‘ What ! haven’t you heard \ ’ cried the widow. ‘ Haven’t 
you heard of the dreadful illness which so nearly carried her from 
me 1 For nine weeks, Mr. Haggarty, I watched her day and night, 
without taking a wink of sleep, — for nine weeks she lay trembling 
between death and life ; and I paid the doctor eighty-three guineas. 
She is restored now ; but she is the wreck of the beautiful creature 
she was. Suffering, and, perhaps, another disappointment — but 
we won’t mention that now — have so pulled her down. But I will 
leave you, and prepare my sweet girl for this strange, this entirely 
unexpected visit.’ 

“ I won’t tell you what took place between me and Jemima, to 
whom I was introduced as she sat in the darkened room, poor 
sufferer ! nor describe to you with what a thrill of joy I seized 
(after groping about for it) her poor emaciated hand. She did not 
withdraw it; I came out of that room an engaged man, sir; and 
now I was enabled to show her that I had always loved her 
sincerely, for there was my will, made three years back, in her 
favour : that night she refused me, as I told ye. I would have 
shot myself, but they’d have brought me in non compos ; and my 
brother Mick would have contested the will, and so I determined to 
live, in order that she might benefit by my dying. I had but a 
thousand pounds then : since that my father has left me two more. 
I willed every shilling to her, as you may fancy, and settled it upon 
her when we married, as we did soon after. It was not for some 
time that I was allowed to see the poor girl’s face, or, indeed, was 
aware of the horrid loss she had sustained. Fancy my agony, my 
dear fellow, when I saw that beautiful wreck ! ” 

There was something not a little affecting to think, in the con- 
duct of this brave fellow, that he never once, as he told his story, 
seemed to allude to the possibility of his declining to marry a 
woman who was not the same as the woman he loved ; but that 


511 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 

he was quite as faithful to her now, as he had been when captivated 
by the poor tawdry charms of the silly Miss of Leamington. It 
was hard that such a noble heart as this should be flung away upon 
yonder foul mass of greedy vanity. Was it hard, or not, that he 
should remain deceived in his obstinate humility, and continue to 
admire the selfish silly being whom he had chosen to worship 1 

“ I should have been appointed surgeon of the regiment,” 
continued Dennis, “ soon after, when it was ordered abroad to 
Jamaica, where it now is. But my wife would not hear of going, 
and said she would break her heart if she left her mother. So I 
retired on half-pay, and took this cottage ; and in case any practice 
should fall in my way — why, there is my name on the brass plate, 
and I’m ready for anything that comes. But the only case that 
ever did come was one day when I was driving my wife in the 
chaise ; and another, one night, of a beggar with a broken head. 
My wife makes me a present of a baby every year, and we’ve no 
debts; and between you and me and the post, as long as my 
mother-in-law is out of the house, I’m as happy as I need be.” 

“What ! you and the old lady don’t get on well 1 ?” said I. 

“ I can’t say we do ; it’s not in nature, you know,” said Dennis, 
with a faint grin. “ She comes into the house, and turns it topsy- 
turvy. When she’s here I’m obliged to sleep in the scullery. She’s 
never paid her daughter’s income since the first year, though she 
brags about her sacrifices as if she had ruined herself for Jemima ; 
and besides, when she’s here, there’s a whole clan of the Molloys, 
horse, foot, and dragoons, that are quartered upon us, and eat me 
out of house and home.” 

“And is Molloyville such a fine place as the widow described 
it 1 ” asked I, laughing, and not a little curious. 

“ Oh, a mighty fine place entirely ! ” said Dennis. “ There’s 
the oak park of two hundred acres, the finest land ye ever saw, 
only they’ve cut all the wood down. The garden in the old 
Molloys’ time, they say, was the finest ever seen in the West of 
Ireland ; but they’ve taken all the glass to mend the house windows ; 
and small blame to them either. There’s a clear rent-roll of thirty- 
five hundred a year, only it’s in the hand of receivers ; besides other 
debts, for which there is no land security.” 

“Your cousin-in-law, Castlereagh Molloy, won’t come into a 
large fortune ? ” 

“ Oh, he’ll do very well,” said Dennis. “ As long as he can 
get credit, he’s not the fellow to stint himself. Faith, I was 
fool enough to put my name to a bit of paper for him, and as 
they could not catch him in Mayo, they laid hold of me at 
Kingstown here. And there was a pretty to do. Didn’t Mrs. 


512 


MEN’S WIVES 


Gam say I was ruining her family, that’s all ? I paid it by instal- 
ments (for all my money is settled on Jemima) ; and Castlereagh, 
who’s an honourable fellow, offered me any satisfaction in life. 
Anyhow, he couldn’t do more than that.” 

“ Of course not : and now you’re friends 1 ” 

“ Yes, and he and his aunt have had a tiff, too ; and he abuses 
her properly, I warrant ye. He says that she carried about 
Jemima from place to place, and flung her at the head of every 
unmarried man in England a’most — my poor Jemima, and she all 
the while dying in love with me ! As soon as she got over the 
small-pox — she took it at Fermoy — God bless her, I wish I’d been 
by to be her nurse-tender — as soon as she was rid of it, the old 
lady said to Castlereagh, ‘ Castlereagh, go to the bar’cks, and find 
out in the Army List where the 120th is. Off she came to Cork 
hot foot. It appears that while she was ill, Jemima’s love for me 
showed itself in such a violent way that her mother was overcome, 
and promised that, should the dear child recover, she would try and 
bring us together. Castlereagh says she would have gone after us 
to Jamaica.” 

“ I have no doubt she would,” said I. 

“ Could you have a stronger proof of love than that 1 ” cried 
Dennis. “My dear girl’s illness and frightful blindness have, of 
course, injured her health and her temper. She cannot in her 
position look to the children, you know, and so they come under 
my charge for the most part ; and her temper is unequal, certainly. 
But you see what a sensitive, refined, elegant creature she is, and 
may fancy that she’s often put out by a rough fellow like me.” 

Here Dennis left me, saying it was time to go and walk out 
the children ; and I think his story has matter of some wholesome 
reflection in it for bachelors who are about to change their condition, 
or may console some who are mourning their celibacy. Marry, 
gentlemen, if you like; leave your comfortable dinner at the club 
for cold-mutton and curl-papers at your home ; give up your books 
or pleasures, and take to yourselves wives and children ; but think 
well on what you do first, as I have no doubt you will after this 
advice and example. Advice is always useful in matters of love ; 
men always take it ; they always follow other people’s opinions, 
not their own : they always profit by example. When they see a 
pretty woman, and feel the delicious madness of love coming over 
them, they always stop to calculate her temper, her money, their 
own money, or suitableness for the married life. . . . Ha, ha, ha ! 
Let us fool in this way no more. I have been in love forty-three 
times with all ranks and conditions of women, and would have 
married every time if they would have let me. How many wives 










A DESERTED HUSBAND, 





513 


DENNIS HAGGARTY’S WIFE 

had King Solomon, the wisest of men? And is not that story a 
warning to us that Love is master of the wisest ? It is only fools 
who defy him. 

I must come, however, to the last, and perhaps the saddest, 
part of poor Denny Haggarty’s history. I met him once more, and 
in such a condition as made me determine to write this history. 

In the month of June last I happened to be at Richmond, a 
delightful little place of retreat ; and there, sunning himself upon 
the terrace, was my old friend of the 120th; he looked older, 
thinner, poorer, and more wretched than I had ever seen him. 
“ What ! you have given up Kingstown ? ” said I, shaking him 
by the hand. 

“Yes,” says he. 

“And is my lady and your family here at Richmond?” 

“No,” says he, with a sad shake of the head; and the poor 
fellow’s hollow eyes filled with tears. 

“ Good heavens, Denny ! what’s the matter ? ” said I. He was 
squeezing my hand like a vice as I spoke. 

“ They’ve left me ! ” he burst out with a dreadful shout of 
passionate grief — a horrible scream which seemed to be wrenched 
out of his heart. “ Left me ! ” said he, sinking down on a seat, 
and clenching his great fists, and shaking his lean arms wildly. 
“ I’m a wise man now, Mr. Fitz-Boodle. Jemima has gone away 
from me, and yet you know how I loved her, and how happy we 
were ! I’ve got nobody now ; but I’ll die soon, that’s one comfort : 
and to think it’s she that’ll kill me after all ! ” 

The story, which he told with a wild and furious lamentation 
such as is not known among men of our cooler country, and such 
as I don’t like now to recall, was a very simple one. The mother- 
in-law had taken possession of the house, and had driven him from 
it. His property at his marriage was settled on his wife. She 
had never loved him, and told him this secret at last, and drove 
him out of doors with her selfish scorn and ill-temper. The boy 
had died; the girls were better, he said, brought up among the 
Molloys than they could be with him ; and so he was quite alone 
in the world, and was living, or rather dying, on forty pounds a 
year. 

His troubles are very likely over by this time. The two fools 
who caused his misery will never read this history of him : they 
never read godless stories in magazines ; and I wish, honest reader, 
that you and I went to church as much as they do. These people 
are not wicked because of their religious observances, but in spite 
of them. They are too dull to understand humility, too blind to 
see a tender and simple heart under a rough ungainly bosom. They 
4 2k 


514 


MEN’S WIVES 


are sure that all their conduct towards my poor friend here has 
been perfectly righteous, and that they have given proofs of the 
most Christian virtue. Haggarty’s wife is considered by her friends 
as a martyr to a savage husband, and her mother is the angel 
that has come to rescue her. All they did was to cheat him and 
desert him. And safe in that wonderful self-complacency with 
which the fools of this earth are endowed, they have not a single 
pang of conscience for their villainy towards him, and consider their 
heartlessness as a proof and consequence of their spotless piety 
and virtue. 


CATHERINE 

. A STORY 


By IKEY SOLOMONS, Esq., Junior 



A D VER T I SEME NT 


T HE story of “ Catherine,” which appeared in Fraser’s Maga- 
zine in 1839-40, was written by Mr. Thackeray, under the 
name of Ikey Solomons, Jun., to counteract the injurious 
influence of some popular fictions of that day, which made heroes of 
highwaymen and burglars, and created a false sympathy for the 
vicious and criminal. 

With this purpose, the author chose for the subject of his story 
a woman named Catherine Hayes, who was burned at Tyburn, in 
1726, for the deliberate murder of her husband, under very revolting 
circumstances. Mr. Thackeray’s aim obviously was to describe the 
career of this wretched woman and her associates with such fidelity 
to truth as to exhibit the danger and folly of investing such persons 
with heroic and romantic qualities. 



CATHERINE 


A STORY 


CHAPTER I 

INTRODUCING TO THE READER THE CHIEF PERSONAGES OF 
THIS NARRATIVE 

_l that famous period of history, when the seventeenth century 



(after a deal of quarrelling, king-killing, reforming, republi- 


* * canising, restoring, re-restoring, play-writing, sermon-writing, 

Oliver-Cromwellising, Stuartising, and Orangising, to be sure) had 
sunk into its grave, giving place to the lusty eighteenth ; when Mr. 
Isaac Newton was a tutor of Trinity, and Mr. Joseph Addison Com- 
missioner of Appeals ; when the presiding genius that watched over 
the destinies of the French nation had played out all the best cards 
in his hand, and his adversaries began to pour in their trumps ; when 
there were two kings in Spain employed perpetually in running away 
from one another ; when there was a queen in England, with such 
rogues for Ministers as have never been seen, no, not in our own 
day ; and a General, of whom it may be severely argued, whether 
he was the meanest miser or the greatest hero in the world ; when 
Mrs. Masham had not yet put Madam Marlborough’s nose out of joint; 
when people had their ears cut off for writing very meek political 
pamphlets ; and very large full-bottomed wigs were just beginning to 
be worn with powder ; and the face of Louis the Great, as his was 
handed in to him behind the bed-curtains, was, when issuing thence, 
observed to look longer, older, and more dismal daily. . . . 

About the year One thousand seven hundred and five, that is, in 
the glorious reign of Queen Anne, there existed certain characters, 
and befell a series of adventures, which, since they are strictly in 
accordance with the present fashionable style and taste ; since they 
have been already partly described in the “ Newgate Calendar ” ; 
since they are (as shall be seen anon) agreeably low, delightfully 


520 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


disgusting, and at the same time eminently pleasing and pathetic, 
may properly be set down here. 

And though it may be said, with some considerable show of 
reason, that agreeably low and delightfully disgusting characters have 
already been treated, both copiously and ably, by some eminent 
writers of the present (and, indeed, of future) ages ; though to tread 
in the footsteps of the immortal Fagin requires a genius of inordinate 
stride, and to go a-robbing after the late though deathless Turpin, 
the renowned Jack Sheppard, or the embryo Duval, may be im- 
possible, and not an infringement, but a wasteful indication of ill-will 
towards the eighth commandment ; though it may, on the one hand, 
be asserted that only vain coxcombs would dare to write on subjects 
already described by men really and deservedly eminent; on the 
other hand, that these subjects have been described so fully, that 
nothing more can be said about them ; on the third hand (allowing, 
for the sake of argument, three hands to one figure of speech), that 
the public has heard so much of them, as to be quite tired of rogues, 
thieves, cut-throats, and Newgate altogether; — though all these 
objections may be urged, and each is excellent, yet we intend to take 
a few more pages from the “ Old Bailey Calendar,” to bless the 
public with one more draught from the Stone Jug : * — yet awhile to 
listen, hurdle-mounted, and riding down the Oxford Road, to the 
bland conversation of Jack Ketch, and to hang with him round the 
neck of his patient, at the end of our and his history. We give the 
reader fair notice, that we shall tickle him with a few such scenes of 
villainy, throat-cutting, and bodily suffering in general, as are not to 

be found, no, not in ; never mind comparisons, for such are 

odious. 

In the year 1705, then, whether it was that the Queen of 
England did feel seriously alarmed at the notion that a French 
prince should occupy the Spanish throne; or whether she was 
tenderly attached to the Emperor of Germany ; or whether she was 
obliged to fight out the quarrel of William of Orange, who made us 
pay and fight for his Dutch provinces ; or whether poor old Louis 
Quatorze did really frighten her ; or whether Sarah Jennings and 
her husband wanted to make a fight, knowing how much they 
should gain by it ; — whatever the reason was, it was evident that 
the war was to continue, and there was almost as much soldiering 
and recruiting, parading, pike and gun exercising, flag-flying, drum- 
beating, powder-blazing, and military enthusiasm, as we can all 
remember in the year 1801, what time the Corsican upstart menaced 

* This, as your Ladyship is aware, is the polite name for her Majesty’s 
prison of Newgate. 


CAPTAIN PLUME AND SERGEANT KITE 521 

our shores. A recruiting-party and captain of Cutts’s regiment 
(which had been so mangled at Blenheim the year before) were now 
in Warwickshire; and having their depdt at Warwick, the captain 
and his attendant, the corporal, were used to travel through the 
country, seeking for heroes to fill up the gaps in Cutts’s corps, — and 
for adventures to pass away the weary time of a country life. 

Our Captain Plume and Sergeant Kite (it was at this time, by 
the way, that those famous recruiting-officers were playing their 
pranks in Shrewsbury) were occupied very much in the same manner 
with Farquhar’s heroes. They roamed from Warwick to Stratford, 
and from Stratford to Birmingham, persuading the swains of War- 
wickshire to leave the plough for the pike, and despatching, from 
time to time, small detachments of recruits to extend Marlborough’s 
lines, and to act as food for the hungry cannon at Ramillies and 
Malplaquet. 

Of those two gentlemen who are about to act a very important 
part in our history, one only was probably a native of Britain, — we 
say probably, because the individual in question was himself quite 
uncertain, and, it must be added, entirely indifferent about his 
birthplace; but speaking the English language, and having been 
during the course of his life pretty generally engaged in the British 
service, he had a tolerably fair claim to the majestic title of Briton. 
His name was Peter Brock, otherwise Corporal Brock, of Lord 
Cutts’s regiment of dragoons ; he was of age about fifty-seven (even 
that point has never been ascertained) ; in height about five feet 
six inches ; in weight, nearly thirteen stone ; with a chest that the 
celebrated Leitch himself might envy; an arm that was like an 
opera-dancer’s leg ; a stomach so elastic that it would accommodate 
itself to any given or stolen quantity of food ; a great aptitude for 
strong liquors ; a considerable skill in singing chansons de table of 
not the most delicate kind ; he was a lover of jokes, of which he 
made many, and passably bad; when pleased, simply coarse, bois- 
terous, and jovial ; when angry, a perfect demon : bullying, cursing, 
storming, fighting, as is sometimes the wont with gentlemen of his 
cloth and education. 

Mr. Brock was strictly, what the Marquis of Rodil styled himself 
in a proclamation to his soldiers after running away, a hijo de la 
guerra — a child of war. Not seven cities, but one or two regiments, 
might contend for the honour of giving him birth ; for his mother, 
whose name he took, had acted as camp-follower to a Royalist regi- 
ment ; had then obeyed the Parliamentarians ; died in Scotland when 
Monk was commanding in that country ; and the first appearance 
of Mr. Brock in a public capacity displayed him as a fifer in the 
General’s own regiment of Coldstreamers, when they marched from 


522 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


Scotland to London, and from a republic at once into a monarchy. 
Since that period, Brock had been always with the army : he had 
had, too, some promotion, for he spake of having a command at the 
battle of the Boyne ; though probably (as he never mentioned the 
fact) upon the losing side. The very year before this narrative com- 
mences, he had been one of Mordaunt’s forlorn hope at Schellenberg, 
for which service he was promised a pair of colours ; he lost them, 
however, and was almost shot (but fate did not ordain that his career 
should close in that way) for drunkenness and insubordination imme- 
diately after the battle; but having in some measure reinstated 
himself by a display of much gallantry at Blenheim, it was found 
advisable to send him to England for the purpose of recruiting, and 
remove him altogether from the regiment where his gallantry only 
rendered the example of his riot more dangerous. 

Mr. Brock’s commander was a slim young gentleman of twenty- 
six, about whom there was likewise a history, if one would take the 
trouble to inquire. He was a Bavarian by birth (his mother being 
an English lady), and enjoyed along with a dozen other brothers the 
title of count : eleven of these, of course, were penniless ; one or 
two were priests, one a monk, six or seven in various military 
services, and the elder at home at Schloss Galgenstein breeding 
horses, hunting wild boars, swindling tenants, living in a great house 
with small means ; obliged to be sordid at home all the year, to be 
splendid for a month at the capital, as is the way with many other 
noblemen. Our young count, Count Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian 
von Galgenstein, had been in the service of the French as page to a 
nobleman ; then of his Majesty’s gardes du corps; then a lieutenant 
and captain in the Bavarian service ; and when, after the battle of 
Blenheim, two regiments of Germans came over to the winning side, 
Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian found himself among them ; and at 
the epoch when this story commences, had enjoyed English pay for 
a year or more. It is unnecessary to say how he exchanged into 
his present regiment ; how it appeared that, before her marriage, 
handsome John Churchill had known the young gentleman’s mother, 
when they were both penniless hangers-on at Charles the Second’s 
court; — it is, we say, quite useless to repeat all the scandal of 
which we are perfectly masters, and to trace step by step the events 
of his history. Here, however, was Gustavus Adolphus, in a small 
inn, in a small village of Warwickshire, on an autumn evening in 
the year 1705; and at the very moment when this history begins, 
he and Mr. Brock, his corporal and friend, were seated at a round 
table before the kitchen-fire, while a small groom of the establish- 
ment was leading up and down on the village green, before the 
inn door, two black, glossy, long-tailed, barrel-bellied, thick-flanked, 


THE TWO FLANDERS HORSES 523 

arch-necked, Roman-nosed Flanders horses, which were the property 
of the two gentlemen now taking their ease at the “ Bugle Inn.” 
The two gentlemen were seated at their ease at the inn table, drink- 
ing mountain- wine ; and if the reader fancies from the sketch which 
we have given of their lives, or from his awn blindness and belief in 
the perfectibility of human nature, that the sun of that autumn 
evening shone upon any two men in county or city, at desk or 
harvest, at Court or at Newgate, drunk or sober, who were greater 
rascals than Count Gustavus Galgenstein and Corporal Peter Brock, 
he is egregiously mistaken, and his knowledge of human nature is 
not worth a fig. If they had not been two prominent scoundrels, 
what earthly business should we have in detailing their histories ? 
What would the public care for them 1 Who would meddle with 
dull virtue, humdrum sentiment, or stupid innocence, when vice, 
agreeable vice, is the only thing which the readers of romances care 
to hear 1 ? 

The little horse-boy, who was leading the two black Flanders 
horses up and down the green, might have put them in the stable 
for any good that the horses got by the gentle exercise which they 
were now taking in the cool evening air, as their owners had not 
ridden very far or very hard, and there was not a hair turned of 
their sleek shining coats ; but the lad had been especially ordered 
so to walk the horses about until he received further commands 
from the gentlemen reposing in the “Bugle” kitchen; and the 
idlers of the village seemed so pleased with the beasts, and their 
smart saddles and shining bridles, that it would have been a pity to 
deprive them of the pleasure of contemplating such an innocent 
spectacle. Over the Count’s horse was thrown a fine red cloth, 
richly embroidered in yellow worsted, a very large count’s coronet 
and a cipher at the four corners of the covering; and under this 
might be seen a pair of gorgeous silver stirrups, and above it a 
couple of silver-mounted pistols reposing in bearskin holsters ; the 
bit was silver too, and the horse’s head was decorated with many 
smart ribbons. Of the Corporal’s steed, suffice it to say, that the 
ornaments were in brass, as bright, though not perhaps so valuable, 
as those which decorated the Captain’s animal. The boys, who had 
been at play on the green, first paused and entered into conversation 
with the horse-boy ; then the village matrons followed ; and after- 
wards, sauntering by ones and twos, came the village maidens, who 
love soldiers as Hies love treacle ; presently the males began to 
arrive, and lo ! the parson of the parish, taking his evening walk 
with Mrs. Dobbs, and the four children his offspring, at length 
joined himself to his flock. 

To this audience the little ostler explained that the animals 


524 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


belonged to two gentlemen now reposing at tbe “ Bugle ” : one 
young with gold hair, the other old with grizzled locks ; both in 
red coats ; both in jack-boots ; putting the house into a bustle, 
and calling for the best. He then discoursed to some of his own 
companions regarding the merits of the horses ; and the parson, a 
learned man, explained to the villagers, that one of the travellers 
must be a count, or at least had a count’s horsecloth ; pronounced 
that the stirrups were of real silver, and checked the impetuosity 
of his son, William Nassau Dobbs, who was for mounting the 
animals, and who expressed a longing to fire off one of the pistols 
in the holsters. 

As this family discussion was taking place, the gentlemen whose 
appearance had created so much attention came to the door of the 
inn, and the elder and stouter was seen to smile at his companion ; 
after which he strolled leisurely over the green, and seemed to 
examine with much benevolent satisfaction the assemblage of 
villagers who were staring at him and the quadrupeds. 

Mr. Brock, when he saw the parson’s band and cassock, took 
off his beaver reverently, and saluted the divine : “I hope your 
reverence won’t balk the little fellow,” said he; “I think I 
heard him calling out for a ride, and whether he should like my 
horse, or his Lordship’s horse, I am sure it is all one. Don’t be 
afraid, sir ! the horses are not tired ; we have only come seventy 
mile to-day, and Prince Eugene once rode a matter of fifty-two 
leagues (a hundred and fifty miles), sir, upon that horse, between 
sunrise and sunset.” 

“ Gracious powers ! on which horse ? ” said Doctor Dobbs, very 
solemnly. 

“ On this, sir, — on mine, Corporal Brock of Cutts’s black 
gelding, ‘William of Nassau.’ The Prince, sir, gave it me after 
Blenheim fight, for I had my own legs earned away by a cannon- 
ball, just as I cut down two of Sauerkrauter’s regiment, who had 
made the Prince prisoner.” 

“Your own legs, sir ! ” said the Doctor. “ Gracious goodness ! 
this is more and more astonishing ! ” 

“No, no, not my own legs, my horse’s I mean, sir; and the 
Prince gave me ‘ William of Nassau ’ that very day.” 

To this no direct reply was made ; but the Doctor looked at 
Mrs. Dobbs, and Mrs. Dobbs and the rest of the children at her 
eldest son, who grinned and said, “Isn’t it wonderful?” The 
Corporal to this answered nothing, but, resuming his account, 
pointed to the other horse and said, “ That horse, sir — good as 
mine is — that horse, with the silver stirrups, is his Excellency’s 
horse, Captain Count Maximilian Gustavus Adolphus von Galgen- 


MR. BROCK AND THE PARSON 525 

stein, captain of horse and of the Holy Roman Empire ” (he lifted 
here his hat with much gravity, and all the crowd, even to the 
parson, did likewise). “ We call him £ George of Denmark,’ sir, 
in compliment to her Majesty’s husband : he is Blenheim too, sir ; 
Marshal Tallard rode him on that day, and you know how he was 
taken prisoner by the Count.” 

“George of Denmark, Marshal Tallard, William of Nassau! 
this is strange indeed, most wonderful ! Why, sir, little are you 
aware that there are before you, at this moment , two other living 
beings who bear these venerated names ! My boys, stand forward ! 
Look here, sir : these children have been respectively named after 
our late sovereign and the husband of our present Queen.” 

“And very good names too, sir; ay, and very noble little 
fellows too ; and I propose that, with your reverence and your lady- 
ship’s leave, William Nassau here shall ride on George of Denmark, 
and George of Denmark shall ride on William of Nassau.” 

When this speech of the Corporal’s was made, the whole crowd 
set up a loyal hurrah ; and, with much gravity, the two little boys 
were lifted up into the saddles; and the Corporal leading one, 
entrusted the other to the horse-boy, and so together marched 
stately up and down the green. 

The popularity which Mr. Brock gained by this manoeuvre was 
very great ; but with regard to the names of the horses and children, 
which coincided so extraordinarily, it is but fair to state, that the 
christening of the quadrupeds had only taken place about two 
minutes before the dragoon’s appearance on the green. For if the 
fact must be confessed, he, while seated near the inn window, had 
kept a pretty wistful eye upon all going on without ; and the horses 
marching thus to and fro for the wonderment of the village, were 
only placards or advertisements for the riders. 

There was, besides the boy now occupied with the horses, and 
the landlord and landlady of the “ Bugle Inn,” another person con- 
nected with that establishment — a very smart, handsome, vain, 
giggling servant-girl, about the age of sixteen, who went by the 
familiar name of Cat, and attended upon the gentlemen in the 
parlour, while the landlady was employed in cooking their supper 
in the kitchen. This young person had been educated in the village 
poorhouse, and having been pronounced by Doctor Dobbs and the 
schoolmaster the idlest, dirtiest, and most passionate little minx 
with whom either had ever had to do, she was, after receiving a 
very small portion of literary instruction (indeed it must be stated 
that the young lady did not know her letters), bound apprentice at 
the age of nine years to Mrs. Score, her relative, and landlady of the 
“Bugle Inn.” 


526 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


If Miss Cat, or Catherine Hall, was a slattern and a minx, 
Mrs. Score was a far superior shrew ; and for the seven years of 
her apprenticeship the girl was completely at her mistress’s mercy. 
Yet though wondrously stingy, jealous, and violent, while her maid 
was idle and extravagant, and her husband seemed to abet the girl, 
Mrs. Score put up with the wench’s airs, idleness, and caprices, 
without ever wishing to dismiss her from the “ Bugle.” The fact 
is, that Miss Catherine was a great beauty, and for about two years, 
since her fame had begun to spread, the custom of the inn had also 
increased vastly. When there was a debate whether the farmers, 
on their way from market, would take t’other pot, Catherine, by 
appearing with it, would straightway cause the liquor to be swallowed 
and paid for; and when the traveller who proposed riding that 
night and sleeping at Coventry or Birmingham, was asked by 
Miss Catherine whether he would like a fire in his bedroom, he 
generally was induced to occupy it, although he might before have 
vowed to Mrs. Score that he would not for a thousand guineas 
be absent from home that night. The girl had, too, half-a-dozen 
lovers in the village ; and these were bound in honour to spend 
their pence at the alehouse she inhabited. 0 woman, lovely 
woman ! what strong resolves canst thou twist round thy little 
finger ! what gunpowder passions canst thou kindle with a single 
sparkle of thine eye ! what lies and fribble nonsense canst thou 
make us listen to, as they were gospel truth or splendid wit ! above 
all, what bad liquor canst thou make us swallow when thou puttest 
a kiss within the cup — and we are content to call the poison wine ! 

The mountain-wine at the “ Bugle ” was, in fact, execrable ; 
but Mrs. Cat, who served it to the two soldiers, made it so agreeable 
to them, that they found it a passable, even a pleasant task, to 
swallow the contents of a second bottle. The miracle had been 
wrought instantaneously on her appearance : for whereas at that 
very moment the Count was employed in cursing the wine, the 
landlady, the wine-grower, and the English nation generally, when 
the young woman entered and (choosing so to interpret the oaths) 
said, “ Coming, your honour ; I think your honour called” — Gustavus. 
Adolphus whistled, stared at her very hard, and seeming quite dumb- 
stricken by her appearance, contented himself by swallowing a whole 
glass of mountain by way of reply. 

Mr. Brock was, however, by no means so confounded as his 
captain : he was thirty years older than the latter, and in the 
course of fifty years of military life had learned to look on the most 
dangerous enemy, or the most beautiful woman, with the like 
daring, devil-may-care determination to conquer. 

“ My dear Mary,” then said that gentleman, “ his honour is a 


THE BARMAID OF THE “BUGLE” 527 

lord ; as good as a lord, that is ; for all he allows such humble fellows 
as I am to drink with him.” 

Catherine dropped a low curtsey, and said, “ Well, I don’t know 
if you are joking a poor country girl, as all you soldier gentlemen 
do ; but his honour looks like a lord : though I never see one, to be 
sure.” 

“ Then,” said the Captain, gathering courage, “ how do you know 
I look like one, pretty Mary 1 ” 

“ Pretty Catherine : I mean Catherine, if you please, sir.” 

Here Mr. Brock burst into a roar of laughter, and shouting with 
many oaths that she was right at first, invited her to give him what 
he called a buss. 

Pretty Catherine turned away from him at this request, and 
muttered something about “ Keep your distance, low fellow ! buss 
indeed ; poor country girl,” &c. &c., placing herself, as if for pro- 
tection, on the side of the Captain. That gentleman looked also 
very angry ; but whether at the sight of innocence so outraged, or 
the insolence of the Corporal for daring to help himself first, we 
cannot say. “ Hark ye, Mr. Brock,” he cried very fiercely, “ I will 
suffer no such liberties in my presence : remember, it is only my 
condescension which permits you to share my bottle in this way ; 
take care I don’t give you instead a taste of my cane.” So saying, 
he, in a protecting manner, placed one hand round Mrs. Catherine’s 
waist, holding the other clenched very near to the Corporal’s nose. 

Mrs. Catherine, for her share of this action of the Count’s, 
dropped another curtsey and said, “ Thank you, my Lord.” But 
Galgenstein’s threat did not appear to make any impression on 
Mr. Brock, as indeed there was no reason that it should ; for the 
Corporal, at a combat of fisticuffs, could have pounded his com- 
mander into a jelly in ten minutes; so he contented himself by 
saying, “ Well, noble Captain, there’s no harm done ; it is an 
honour for poor old Peter Brock to be at table with you, and I am 
sorry, sure enough.” 

“ In truth, Peter, I believe thou art ; thou hast good reason, eh, 
Peter 1 But never fear, man ; had I struck thee, I never would have 
hurt thee.” 

“ I know you would not,” replied Brock, laying his hand on his 
heart with much gravity ; and so peace was made, and healths were 
drunk. Miss Catherine condescended to put her lips to the Captain’s 
glass; who swore that the wine was thus converted into nectar; 
and although the girl had not previously heard of that liquor, she 
received the compliment as a compliment, and smiled and simpered 
in return. 

The poor thing had never before seen anybody so handsome, 


528 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


or so finely dressed as the Count; and, in the simplicity of her 
coquetry, allowed her satisfaction to be quite visible. Nothing 
could be more clumsy than the gentleman’s mode of complimenting 
her; but for this, perhaps, his speeches were more effective than 
others more delicate would have been ; and though she said to each, 
“ Oh, now, my Lord,” and “ La, Captain, how can you flatter one 
so?” and “Your honour’s laughing at me,” and made such polite 
speeches as are used on these occasions, it was manifest from the 
flutter and blush, and the grin of satisfaction which lighted up the 
buxom features of the little country beauty, that the Count’s first 
operations had been highly successful. When following up his 
attack, he produced from his neck a small locket (which had been 
given him by a Dutch lady at the Brill), and begged Miss Catherine 
to wear it for his sake, and chucked her under the chin and called 
her his little rosebud, it was pretty clear how things would go : 
anybody who could see the expression of Mr. Brock’s countenance 
at this event might judge of the progress of the irresistible High- 
Dutch conqueror. 

Being of a very vain communicative turn, our fair barmaid gave 
her two companions not only a pretty long account of herself, but 
of many other persons in the village, whom she could perceive from 
the window opposite to which she stood. “Yes, your honour,” said 
she — “ my Lord, I mean ; sixteen last March, though there’s a 
many girl in the village that at my age is quite chits. There’s 
Polly Randall now, that red-haired girl along with Thomas Curtis : 
she’s seventeen if she’s a day, though he is the very first sweetheart 
she has had. Well, as I am saying, I was bred up here in the 
village — father and mother died very young, and I was left a poor 
orphan — well, bless us ! if Thomas haven’t kissed her ! — to the 
care of Mrs. Score, my aunt, who has been a mother to me — a step- 
mother, you know ; — and I’ve been to Stratford fair, and to Warwick 
many a time ; and there’s two people who have offered to marry 
me, and ever so many who want to, and I won’t have none — only a 
gentleman, as I’ve always said ; not a poor clodpole, like Tom there 
with the red waistcoat (he was one that asked me), nor a drunken 
fellow like Sam Blacksmith yonder, him whose wife has got the 
black eye, but a real gentleman, like ” 

“Like whom, my dear?” said the Captain, encouraged. 

“La, sir, how can you? Why, like our squire, Sir John, who 
rides in such a mortal fine gold coach ; or, at least, like the parson, 
Doctor Dobbs — that’s he, in the black gown, walking with Madam 
Dobbs in red.” 

“And are those his children?” 

“ Yes : two girls and two boys ; and only think, he calls one 



mrs. Catherine’s temptation 





MR. BROCK’S DIPLOMACY 529 

William Nassau, and one George Denmark— isn’t it odd?” And 
from the parson, Mrs. Catherine went on to speak of several humble 
personages of the village community, who, as they are not necessary 
to our story, need not be described at full length. It was when, 
from the window, Corporal Brock saw the altercation between the 
worthy divine and his son, respecting the latter’s ride, that he 
judged it a fitting time to step out on the green, and to bestow 
on the two horses those famous historical names which we have just 
heard applied to them. 

Mr. Brock’s diplomacy was, as we have stated, quite successful ; 
for, when the parson’s boys had ridden and retired along with their 
mamma and papa, other young gentlemen of humbler rank in the 
village were placed upon “ George of Denmark ” and “ William of 
Nassau ” ; the Corporal joking and laughing with all the grown-up 
people. The women, in spite of Mr. Brock’s age, his red nose, and 
a certain squint of his eye, vowed the Corporal was a jewel of a 
man ; and among the men his popularity was equally great. 

“ How much dost thee get, Thomas Clodpole?” said Mr. Brock 
to a countryman (he was the man whom Mrs. Catherine had 
described as her suitor), who had laughed loudest at some of his 
jokes : “ how much dost thee get for a week’s work, now s ” 

Mr. Clodpole, whose name was really Bullock, stated that his 
wages amounted to “three shillings and a puddn.” 

“ Three shillings and a puddn ! — monstrous ! — and for this you 
toil like a galley-slave, as I have seen them in Turkey and America, 
— ay, gentlemen, and in the country of Prester John ! You shiver 
out of bed on icy winter mornings, to break the ice for Ball and 
Dapple to drink.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said the person addressed, who seemed astounded 
at the extent of the Corporal’s information. 

“ Or you clean pig-sty, and take dung down to meadow ; or you 
act watch-dog and tend sheep ; or you sweep a scythe over a great 
field of grass ; and when the sun has scorched the eyes out of your 
head, and sweated the flesh off your bones, and well-nigh fried the 
soul out of your body, you go home, to what? — three shillings a 
week and a puddn ! Do you get pudding every day ? ” 

“No; only Sundays.” 

“ Do you get money enough ? ” 

“No, sure.” 

“ Do you get beer enough ? ” 

“ Oh no, never ! ” said Mr. Bullock, quite resolutely. 

“ Worthy Clodpole, give us thy hand : it shall have beer enough 
this day, or my name’s not Corporal Brock. Here’s the money, boy ! 
there are twenty pieces in this purse : and how do you think I got 


530 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


’em ? and how do you think I shall get others when these are gone ? 
— by serving Her Sacred Majesty, to be sure : long life to her, and 
down with the French King ! ” 

Bullock, a few of the men, and two or three of the boys, piped 
out an hurrah, in compliment to this speech of the Corporal’s : but 
it was remarked that the greater part of the crowd drew back — the 
women whispering ominously to them and looking at the Corporal. 

“ I see, ladies, what it is,” said he. “ You are frightened, and 
think I am a crimp come to steal your sweethearts away. What ! 
call Peter Brock a double-dealer? I tell you what, boys, Jack 
Churchill himself has shaken this hand, and drunk a pot with me : 
do you think he’d shake hands with a rogue? Here’s Tummas 
Clodpole has never had beer enough, and here am I will stand treat 
to him and any other gentleman : am I good enough company for 
him ? I have money, look you, and like to spend it : what should 
I be doing dirty actions for — hay, Tummas ? ” 

A satisfactory reply to this query was not, of course, expected 
by the Corporal, nor uttered by Mr. Bullock ; and the end of the 
dispute was, that he and three or four of the rustic bystanders were 
quite convinced of the good intentions of their new friend, and 
accompanied him back to the “ Bugle,” to regale upon the promised 
beer. Among the Corporal’s guests was one young fellow whose 
dress would show that he was somewhat better to do in the world 
than Clodpole and the rest of the sunburnt ragged troop, who were 
marching towards the alehouse. This man was the only one of his 
hearers who, perhaps, was sceptical as to the truth of his stories ; 
but as soon as Bullock accepted the invitation to drink, John Hayes, 
the carpenter (for such was his name and profession), said, “ Well, 
Thomas, if thou goest, I will go too.” 

“ I know thee wilt,” said Thomas : “ thou’lt goo anywhere Catty 
Hall is, provided thou canst goo for nothing.” 

“Nay, I have a penny to spend as good as the Corporal 
here.” 

“ A penny to keep , you mean : for all your love for the lass at 
the ‘Bugle,’ did thee ever spend a shilling in the house? Thee 
wouldn’t go now, but that I am going too, and the Captain here 
stands treat.” 

“ Come, come, gentlemen, no quarrelling,” said Mr. Brock. “ If 
this pretty fellow will join us, amen say I : there’s lots of liquor, 
and plenty of money to pay the score. Comrade Tummas, give us 
thy arm. Mr. Hayes, you’re a hearty cock, I make no doubt, and 
all such are welcome. Come along, my gentleman farmers, Mr. 
Brock shall have the honour to pay for you all.” And with this, 
Corporal Brock, accompanied by Messrs. Hayes, Bullock, Blacksmith, 


531 


MR. JOHN HAYES 

Baker’s-boy, Butcher, and one or two others, adjourned to the inn ; 
the horses being, at the same time, conducted to the stable. 

Although we have, in this quiet way, and without any flourish- 
ing of trumpets, or beginning of chapters, introduced Mr. Hayes to 
the public ; and although, at first sight, a sneaking carpenter’s boy 
may seem hardly worthy of the notice of an intelligent reader, who 
looks for a good cut-throat or highwayman for a hero, or a pickpocket 
at the very least : this gentleman’s words and actions should be 
carefully studied by the public, as he is destined to appear before 
them under very polite and curious circumstances during the course 
of this history. The speech of the rustic Juvenal, Mr. Clodpole, 
had seemed to infer that Hayes was at once careful of his money 
and a warm admirer of Mrs. Catherine of the “ Bugle ” : and both 
the charges were perfectly true. Hayes’s father was reported to be 
a man of some substance ; and young John, who was performing his 
apprenticeship in the village, did not fail to talk very big of his 
pretensions to fortune. — of his entering, at the close of his indentures, 
into partnership with his father — and of the comfortable farm and 
house over which Mrs. John Hayes, whoever she might be, would 
one day preside. Thus, next to the barber and butcher, and above 
even his own master, Mr. Hayes took rank in the village : and it 
must not be concealed that his representation of wealth had made 
some impression upon Mrs. Hall, towards whom the young gentleman 
had cast the eyes of affection. If he had been tolerably well- 
looking, and not pale, rickety, and feeble as he was ; if even he had 
been ugly, but withal a man of spirit, it is probable the girl’s kind- 
ness for him would have been much more decided. But he was a 
poor weak creature, not to compare with honest Thomas Bullock, 
by at least nine inches ; and so notoriously timid, selfish, and stingy, 
that there was a kind of shame in receiving his addresses openly ; 
and what encouragement Mrs. Catherine gave him could only be in 
secret. 

But no mortal is wise at all times : and the fact was, that 
Hayes, who cared for himself intensely, had set his heart upon 
winning Catherine ; and loved her with a desperate greedy eagerness 
and desire of possession, which makes passions for women often so 
fierce and unreasonable among very cold and selfish men. His 
parents (whose frugality he had inherited) had tried in vain to wean 
him from this passion, and had made many fruitless attempts to 
engage him with women who possessed money and desired husbands ; 
but Hayes was, for a wonder, quite proof against their attractions ; 
and, though quite ready to acknowledge the absurdity of his love 
for a penniless alehouse servant-girl, nevertheless persisted in it 
doggedly. U I know I’m a fool,” said he; “and what’s more, the 


532 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

girl does not care for me ; but marry her I must, or I think I shall 
just die : and marry her I will.” For very much to the credit of 
Miss Catherine’s modesty, she had declared that marriage was with 
her a sine qud non , and had dismissed, with the loudest scorn and 
indignation, all propositions of a less proper nature. 

Poor Thomas Bullock was another of her admirers, and had 
offered to marry her; but three shillings a week and a puddn was 
not to the girl’s taste, and Thomas had been scornfully rejected. 
Hayes had also made her a direct proposal. Catherine did not say 
no : she was too prudent : but she was young and could wait ; she did 
not care for Mr. Hayes yet enough to marry him — (it did not seem, 
indeed, in the young woman’s nature to care for anybody) — and she 
gave her adorer flatteringly to understand that, if nobody better 
appeared in the course of a few years, she might be induced to 
become Mrs. Hayes. It was a dismal prospect for the poor 
fellow to live upon the hope of being one day Mrs. Catherine’s 
pis-aller. 

In the meantime she considered herself free as the wind, and 
permitted herself all the innocent gaieties which that “chartered 
libertine,” a coquette, can take. She flirted with all the bachelors, 
widowers, and married men, in a manner which did extraordinary 
credit to her years : and let not the reader fancy such pastimes 
unnatural at her early age. The ladies — Heaven bless them ! — 
are, as a general rule, coquettes from babyhood upwards. Little 
sAe’s of three years old play little airs and graces upon small heroes 
of five ; simpering misses of nine make attacks upon young 
gentlemen of twelve; and at sixteen, a well-grown girl, under 
encouraging circumstances, — say, she is pretty, in a family of 
ugly elder sisters, or an only child and heiress, or a humble wench 
at a country inn, like our fair Catherine — is at the very pink and 
prime of her coquetry : they will jilt you at that age with an 
ease and arch infantine simplicity that never can be surpassed in 
maturer years. 

Miss Catherine, then, was a franche coquette , and Mr. John 
Hayes was miserable. His life was passed in a storm of mean 
passions and bitter jealousies, and desperate attacks upon the 
indifference-rock of Mrs. Catherine’s heart, which not all his tempest 
of love could beat down. 0 cruel, cruel pangs of love unrequited ! 
Mean rogues feel them as well as great heroes. Lives there the 
man in Europe who has not felt them many times % — who has not 
knelt, and fawned, and supplicated, and wept, and cursed, and 
raved, all in vain; and passed long wakeful nights with ghosts of 
dead hopes for company ; shadows of buried remembrances that 
glide out of their graves of nights, and whisper, “We are dead now, 


INSTANCES OF UNREQUITED LOVE 533 

but we were once ; and we made you happy, and we come now to 
mock you : — despair, 0 lover, despair, and die ” ? — 0 cruel pangs ! 
— dismal nights ! — Now a sly demon creeps under your nightcap, 
and drops into your ear those soft hope-breathing sweet words, 
uttered on the well-remembered evening : there, in the drawer of 
your dressing-table (along with the razors, and Macassar oil), lies 
the dead flower that Lady Amelia Wilhelmina wore in her bosom 
on the night of a certain ball — the corpse of a glorious hope that 
seemed once as if it would live for ever, so strong was it, so full of 
joy and sunshine : there, in your writing-desk, among a crowd of 
unpaid bills, is the dirty scrap of paper, thimble-sealed, which came 
in company with a pair of muffetees of her knitting (she was a 
butcher’s daughter, and did all she could, poor thing !), begging 
“ you would ware them at collidge, and think of her who ” — married 
a public-house three weeks afterwards, and cares for you no more 
now than she does for the pot-boy. But why multiply instances, 
or seek to depict the agony of poor mean-spirited John Hayes'? No 
mistake can be greater than that of fancying such great emotions of 
love are only felt by virtuous or exalted men : depend upon it, 
Love, like Death, plays havoc among the pauperum tabernas , and 
sports with rich and poor, wicked and virtuous alike. I have often 
fancied, for instance, on seeing the haggard pale young old-clothes- 
man, who wakes the echoes of our street with his nasal cry of 
“ Clo’ ! ” — I have often, I said, fancied that, besides the load of 
exuvial coats and breeches under which he staggers, there is another 
weight on him — an atrior cura at his tail — and while his unshorn 
lips and nose together are performing that mocking, boisterous, 
Jack-indifferent cry of “ Clo’, clo’ ! ” who knows what woeful utter- 
ances are crying from the heart within? There he is, chaffering 
with the footman at No. 7 about an old dressing-gown : you think 
his whole soul is bent only on the contest about the garment. 
Psha ! there is, perhaps, some faithless girl in Holywell Street who 
fills up his heart ; and that desultory Jew-boy is a peripatetic hell ! 
Take another instance : — -take the man in the beef-shop in Saint 
Martin’s Court. There he is, to all appearances quite calm : before 
the same round of beef — from morning till sundown — for hundreds 
of years very likely. Perhaps when the shutters are closed, and all 
the world tired and silent, there is he silent, but untired — cutting, 
cutting, cutting. You enter, you get your meat to your liking, 
you depart ; and, quite unmoved, on, on he goes, reaping cease- 
lessly the Great Harvest of Beef. You would fancy that if Passion 
ever failed to conquer, it had in vain assailed the calm bosom of 
that man. I doubt it, and would give much to know his history. 
Who knows what furious ^Etna-flames are raging underneath the 


534 . 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


surface of that calm flesh-mountain — who can tell me that that 
calmness itself is not despair 1 

The reader, if he does not now understand why it was that 
Mr. Hayes agreed to drink the Corporal’s proffered beer, had better 
just read the foregoing remarks over again, and if he does not under- 
stand then , why, small praise to his brains. Hayes could not bear 
that Mr. Bullock should have a chance of seeing, and perhaps 
making love to Mrs. Catherine in his absence; and though the 
young woman never diminished her coquetries, but, on the contrary, 
rather increased them in his presence, it was still a kind of dismal 
satisfaction to be miserable in her company. 

On this occasion, the disconsolate lover could be wretched to 
his heart’s content; for Catherine had not a word or a look for 
him, but bestowed all her smiles upon the handsome stranger who 
owned the black horse. As for poor Tummas Bullock, his passion 
was never violent ; and he was content in the present instance to 
sigh and drink beer. He sighed and drank, sighed and drank, and 
drank again, until he had swallowed so much of the Corporal’s 
liquor, as to be induced to accept a guinea from his purse also; 
and found himself, on returning to reason and sobriety, a soldier 
of Queen Anne’s. 

But oh ! fancy the agonies of Mr. Hayes when, seated with 
the Corporal’s friends at one end of the kitchen, he saw the Captain 
at the place of honour, and the smiles which the fair maid bestowed 
upon him ; when, as she lightly whisked past him with the Captain’s 
supper, she, pointing to the locket that once reposed on the breast 
of the Dutch lady at the Brill, looked archly on Hayes and said, 

“ See, John, what his Lordship has given me ; ” and when John’s 
face became green and purple with rage and jealousy, Mrs. Catherine 
laughed ten times louder, and cried, “ Coming, my Lord,” in a voice 
of shrill triumph, that bored through the soul of Mr. John Hayes 
and left him gasping for breath. 

On Catherine’s other lover, Mr. Thomas, this coquetry had no 
effect : he, and two comrades of his, had by this time quite fallen 
under the spell of the Corporal ; and hope, glory, strong beer, Prince 
Eugene, pair of colours, more strong beer, her blessed Majesty, j 
plenty more strong beer, and such subjects, martial and bacchic, 
whirled through their dizzy brains at a railroad pace. 

And now, if there had been a couple of experienced reporters 
present at the “ Bugle Inn,” they might have taken down a con- 
versation on love and war — the two themes discussed by the two 
parties occupying the kitchen — which, as the parts were sung 
together, duetwise, formed together some very curious harmonies! 


535 


TALK OF LOVE AND WAR 

Thus, while the Captain was whispering the softest nothings, the 
Corporal was shouting the fiercest combats of the war; and, like 
the gentleman at Penelope’s table, on it exiguo pinxit prcelia tota 
bore. For example : — 

Captain. What do you say to a silver trimming, pretty 
Catherine 1 ? Don’t you think a scarlet riding-cloak, handsomely 
laced, would become you wonderfully well?— and a grey hat with 
a blue feather — and a pretty nag to ride on — and all the soldiers 
to present arms as you pass, and say, “ There goes the Captain’s 
lady ” ? What do you think of. a side-box at Lincoln’s Inn play- 
house, or of standing up to a minuet with my Lord Marquis 
at ? 

Corporal. The ball, sir, ran right up his elbow, and was found 
the next day by Surgeon Splinter of ours, — where do you think, 
sir 1 — upon my honour as a gentleman, it came out of the nape of 
his 

Captain. Necklace — and a sweet pair of diamond earrings, 
mayhap — and a little shower of patches, which ornament a lady’s 
face wondrously — and a leetle rouge — though, egad ! such peach- 
cheeks as yours don’t want it ; — fie ! Mrs. Catherine, I should 
think the birds must come and peck at them as if they were 
fruit 

Corporal. Over the wall ; and three-and-twenty of our fellows 
jumped after me. By the Pope of Rome, friend Tummas, that was 
a day ! — Had you seen how the Mounseers looked when four-and- 
twenty rampaging he-devils, sword and pistol, cut and thrust, pell- 
mell came tumbling into the redoubt ! Why, sir, we left in three 
minutes as many artillerymen’s heads as there were cannon-balls. 

It was, “ Ah sacrd ! ” “ D you, take that ! ” “0 mon 

Dieu ! ” “ Run him through ! ” “ Ventrebleu ! ” and it was ventre- 

bleu with him, I warrant you ; for bleu , in the French language, 
means “ through ” ; and ventre — why, you see, ventre means 

Captain. Waists, which are worn now excessive long; — and 
for the hoops, if you could but see them — stap my vitals, my dear, 
but there was a lady at Warwick’s Assembly (she came in one of 
my Lord’s coaches) who had a hoop as big as a tent : you might 
have dined under it comfortably ; — ha ! lia ! ’pon my faith, now 

Corporal. And there we found the Duke of Marlborough seated 
along with Marshal Tallard, who was endeavouring to drown his 
sorrow over a cup of Johannisberger wine ; and a good drink too, 
my lads, only not to compare to Warwick beer. “ Who was the 
man who has done this ? ” said our noble General. I stepped up. 
“How many heads was it,” cays he, “that you cut off?” “Nine- 
teen,” says I, “besides wounding several.” When he heard it 


536 CATHERINE: A STORY 

(Mr. Hayes, you don’t drink) I’m blest if lie didn’t burst into 
tears! “Noble, noble fellow,” says he. “Marshal, you must 
excuse me if I am pleased to hear of the destruction of your country- 
men. Noble, noble fellow ! — here’s a hundred guineas for you.” 
Which sum he placed in my hand. “Nay,” says the Marshal, 
“ the man has done his duty : ” and, pulling out a magnificent gold 
diamond-hilted snulfbox, he gave me 

Mr. Bullock. What, a goold snuffbox? Wauns, but thee 
wast in luck, Corporal ! 

Corporal. No, not the snuffbox, but — a pinch of snuff, — ha ! 
ha !— run me through the body if he didn’t. Could you but have 
seen the smile on Jack Churchill’s grave face at this piece of 
generosity ! So, beckoning Colonel Cadogan up to him, he pinched 
his ear and whispered 

Captain. “ May I have the honour to dance a minuet with your 
Ladyship?” The whole room was in titters at Jack’s blunder; 
for, as you know very well, poor Lady Susan has a wooden leg. 
Ha ! ha ! fancy a minuet and a wooden leg, hey, my dear ? 

Mrs. Catherine. Giggle — giggle — giggle : he ! he ! he ! Oh, 
Captain, you rogue, you 

Second table. Haw ! haw ! haw ! Well, you be a foony mon, 
Sergeant, zure enoff. 

This little specimen of the conversation must be sufficient. It 
will show pretty clearly that each of the two military commanders 
was conducting his operations with perfect success. Three of the 
detachment of five attacked by the Corporal surrendered to him : 
Mr. Bullock, namely, who gave in at a very early stage of the 
evening, and ignominiously laid down his arms under the table, 
after standing not more than a dozen volleys of beer ; Mr. Black- 
smith’s boy, and a labourer whose name we have not been able to 
learn. Mr. Butcher himself was on the point of yielding, when he 
was rescued by the furious charge of a detachment that marched to 
his relief : his wife namely, who, with two squalling children, rushed 
into the “Bugle,” boxed Butcher’s ears, and kept up such a tre- 
mendous fire of oaths and screams upon the Corporal, that he was 
obliged to retreat. Fixing then her claws into Mr. Butcher’s hair, 
she proceeded to drag him out of the premises ; and thus Mr. 
Brock was overcome. His attack upon John Hayes was a still 
greater failure; for that young man seemed to be invincible by 
drink, if not by love : and at the end of the drinking-bout was a 
great deal more cool than the Corporal himself; to whom he 
wished a very polite good-evening, as calmly he took his hat to 
depart. He turned to look at Catherine, to be sure, and then he 


MRS. SCORE AND THE COUNT 


537 


was not quite so calm ; but Catherine did not give any reply to his 
good-night. She was seated at the Captain’s table playing at 
cribbage with him ; and though Count Gustavus Maximilian lost 
every game, he won more than he lost, — sly fellow ! — and Mrs. 
Catherine was no match for him. 

It is to be presumed that Hayes gave some information to Mrs. 
Score, the landlady : for, on leaving the kitchen, he was seen to 
linger for a moment in the bar ; and very soon after Mrs. Catherine 
was called away from her attendance on the Count, who, when he 
asked for a sack and toast, was furnished with those articles by 
the landlady herself: and, during the half-hour in which he was 
employed in consuming this drink, Monsieur de Galgenstein looked 
very much disturbed and out of humour, and cast his eyes to the 
door perpetually ; but no Catherine came. At last, very sulkily, 
he desired to be shown to bed, and walked as well as he could 
(for, to say truth, the noble Count was by this time somewhat 
unsteady on his legs) to his chamber. It was Mrs. Score who 
showed him to it, and closed the curtains, and pointed trium- 
phantly to the whiteness of the sheets. 

“ It’s a very comfortable room,” said she, “ though not the 
best in the house; which belong of right to your Lordship’s 
worship ; but our best room has two beds, and Mr. Corporal is 
in that, locked and double-locked, with his three tipsy recruits. 
But your honour will find this here bed comfortable and well-aired ; 
I’ve slept in it myself this eighteen years.” 

“What, my good woman, you are going to sit up, eh 1 ? It’s 
cruel hard on you, madam.” 

“Sit up, my Lord? bless you, no! I shall have half of our 
Cat’s bed; as I always do when there’s company.” And with 
this Mrs. Score curtseyed and retired. 

Very early the next morning the active landlady and her 
bustling attendant had prepared the ale and bacon for the Corporal 
and his three converts, and had set a nice white cloth for the 
Captain’s breakfast. The young blacksmith did not eat with much 
satisfaction; but Mr. Bullock and his friend betrayed no sign of 
discontent, except such as may be consequent upon an evening’s 
carouse. They walked very contentedly to be registered before 
Doctor Dobbs, who was also justice of the peace, and went in 
search of their slender bundles, and took leave of their few ac- 
quaintances without much regret : for the gentlemen had been 
bred in the workhouse, and had not, therefore, a large circle of 
friends. 

It wanted only an hour of noon, and the noble Count had not 


538 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

descended. The men were waiting for him, and spent much of 
the Queen’s money (earned by the sale of their bodies overnight) 
while thus expecting him. Perhaps Mrs. Catherine expected him 
too, for she had offered many times to run up — with my Lord’s 
boots — with the hot water — to show Mr. Brock the way ; who 
sometimes condescended to officiate as barber. But on all these 
occasions Mrs. Score had prevented her; not scolding, but with 
much gentleness and smiling. At last, more gentle and smiling 
than ever, she came downstairs and said, “Catherine darling, his 
honour the Count is mighty hungry this morning, and vows he 
could pick the wing of a fowl. Run down, child, to Farmer Brigg’s 
and get one : pluck it before you bring it, you know, and we will 
make his Lordship a pretty breakfast.” 

Catherine took up her basket, and away she went by the 
back-yard, through the stables. There she heard the little horse- 
boy whistling and hissing after the manner of horse-boys; and 
there she learned that Mrs. Score had been inventing an ingenious 
story to have her out of the way. The ostler said he was just 
going to lead the two horses round to the door. The Corporal 
had been, and they were about to start on the instant for 
Stratford. 

The fact was that Count Gustavus Adolphus, far from wishing 
to pick the wing of a fowl, had risen with a horror and loathing for 
everything in the shape of food, and for any liquor stronger than 
small beer. Of this he had drunk a cup, and said he should ride 
immediately to Stratford ; and when, on ordering his horses, he had 

asked politely of the landlady “why the d she always came up, 

and why she did not send the girl,” Mrs. Score informed the Count 
that her Catherine was gone out for a walk along with the young 
man to whom she was to be married, and would not be visible that 
day. On hearing this the Captain ordered his horses that moment, 
and abused the wine, the bed, the house, the landlady, and every- 
thing connected with the “ Bugle Inn.” 

Out the horses came : the little boys of the village gathered 
round; the recruits, with bunches of ribands in their beavers, 
appeared presently; Corporal Brock came swaggering out, and, 
slapping the pleased blacksmith on the back, bade him mount his 
horse ; while the boys hurrah’d. Then the Captain came out, 
gloomy and majestic; to him Mr. Brock made a military salute, 
which clumsily, and with much grinning, ' the recruits imitated. 
“ I shall walk on with these brave fellows, your honour, and meet 
you at Stratford,” said the Corporal. “ Good,” said the Captain, 
as he mounted. The landlady curtseyed ; the children hurrah’d 
more ; the little horse-boy, who held the bridle with one hand and 


FAILURE OF MRS. SCORE’S STRATAGEM 539 

the stirrup with the other, and expected a crown-piece from such 
a noble gentleman, got only a kick and a curse, as Count von 

Galgenstein shouted, “ D you all, get out of the way ! ” and 

galloped off; and John Hayes, who had been sneaking about the 
inn all the morning, felt a weight off his heart when he saw the 
Captain ride off alone. 

0 foolish Mrs. Score ! 0 dolt of a John Hayes ! If the landlady 
had allowed the Captain and the maid to have their way, and meet 
but for a minute before recruits, sergeant, and all, it is probable 
that no harm would have been done, and that this history would 
never have been written. 

When Count von Galgenstein had ridden half a mile on the 
Stratford road, looking as black and dismal as Napoleon galloping 
from the romantic village of Waterloo, he espied, a few score yards 
onwards, at the turn of the road, a certain object which caused him 
to check his horse suddenly, brought a tingling red into his cheeks, 
and made his heart to go thump — thump ! against his side. A 
young lass was sauntering slowly along the footpath, with a basket 
swinging from one hand, and a bunch of hedge-flowers in the other. 
She stopped once or twice to add a fresh one to her nosegay, and 
might have seen him, the Captain thought; but no, she never 
looked directly towards him, and still walked on. Sweet innocence ! 
she was singing as if none were near ; her voice went soaring up to 
the clear sky, and the Captain put his horse on the grass, that the 
sound of the hoofs might not disturb the music. 

“ When the kine had given a pailful. 

And the sheep came bleating home, 

Poll, who knew it would be healthful, 

Went a- walking out with Tom. 

Hand in hand, sir, on the land, sir, 

As they walked to and fro, 

Tom made jolly love to Polly, 

But was answered no, no, no.” 

The Captain had put his horse on the grass, that the sound of 
his hoofs might not disturb the music ; and now he pushed its head 
on to the bank, where straightway “ George of Denmark ” began 
chewing of such a salad as grew there. And now the Captain slid 
off stealthily ; and smiling comically, and hitching up his great jack- 
boots, and moving forward with a jerking tiptoe step, he, just as she 
was trilling the last o-o-o of the last no in the above poem of Tom 
D’Urfey, came up to her, and touching her lightly on the waist, 
said— 


540 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


“ My dear, your very humble servant.” 

Mrs. Catherine (you know you have found her out long ago !) 
gave a scream and a start, and would have turned pale if she could. 
As it was, she only shook all over, and said — 

“ Oh, sir, how you did frighten me ! ” 

“ Frighten you, my rosebud ! why, run me through, I’d die 
rather than frighten you. Gad, child, tell me now, am I so very 
frightful ? ” 

“ Oh no, your honour, I didn’t mean that ; only I wasn’t think- 
ing to meet you here, or that you would ride so early at all : for, if 
you please, sir, I was going to fetch a chicken for your Lordship’s 
breakfast, as my mistress said you would like one ; and I thought, 
instead of going to Farmer Brigg’s, down Birmingham way, as she 
told me, I’d go to Farmer’s Bird’s, where the chickens is better, sir, 
— my Lord, I mean.” 

“ Said I’d like a chicken for breakfast, the old cat ! why, I told 

her I would not eat a morsel to save me — I was so dru 1 mean 

I ate such a good supper last night — and I bade her to send me a 
pot of small beer, and to tell you to bring it ; and the wretch said 
you were gone out with your sweetheart ” 

“ What ! John Hayes, the creature ? Oh, what a naughty story- 
telling woman ! ” 

“ You had walked out with your sweetheart, and I was not 

to see you any more ; and I was mad with rage, and ready to kill 
myself ; I was, my dear.” 

“ Oh, sir ! pray, pray don’t.” 

“For your sake, my sweet angel ?” 

“Yes, for my sake, if such a poor girl as me can persuade noble 
gentlemen.” 

“Well, then, for your sake, I won’t; no, I’ll live; but why 
live? Hell and fury, if I do live I’m miserable without you; I 
am, — you know I am, — you adorable, beautiful, cruel, wicked 
Catherine!” 

Catherine’s reply to this was “La, bless me! I do be- 
lieve your horse is running away.” And so he was! for having 
finished his meal in the hedge, he first looked towards his master 
and paused, as it were, irresolutely; then, by a sudden impulse, 
flinging up his tail and his hind-legs, he scampered down the 
road. 

Mrs. Hall ran lightly after the horse, and the Captain after Mrs. 
Hall ; and the horse ran quicker and quicker every moment, and 
might have led them a long chase, — when lo ! debouching from a 
twist in the road, came the detachment of cavalry and infantry under 
Mr. Brock. The moment he was out of sight of the village, that 


541 


THE CAPTAIN AND MRS. CAT 

gentleman had desired the blacksmith to dismount, and had himself 
jumped into the saddle, maintaining the subordination of his army 
by drawing a pistol and swearing that he would blow out the brains 
of any person who attempted to run. When the Captain’s horse 
came near the detachment he paused, and suffered himself to be 
caught by Tummas Bullock, who held him until the owner and Mrs. 
Catherine came up. 

Mr. Bullock looked comically grave when he saw the pair ; but 
the Corporal graciously saluted Mrs. Catherine, and said it was a 
fine day for walking. 

“ La, sir, and so it is,” said she, panting in a very pretty and 
distressing way, “ but not for running. I do protest — ha ! — and 
vow that I really can scarcely stand. I’m so tired of running after 
that naughty, naughty horse ! ” 

“ How do, Cattern 1 ” said Thomas. “ Zee, I be going a-zouldier- 
ing because thee wouldn’t have me.” And here Mr. Bullock grinned. 
Mrs. Catherine made no sort of reply, but protested once more she 
should die of running. If the truth were told, she was somewhat 
vexed at the arrival of the Corporal’s detachment, and had had very 
serious thoughts of finding herself quite tired just as he came in 
sight. 

A sudden thought brought a smile of bright satisfaction in the 
Captain’s eyes. He mounted the horse which Tummas still held. 
“ Tired , Mrs. Catherine,” said he, “ and for my sake 1 By heavens ! 
you shan’t walk a step farther. No, you shall ride back with a 
guard of honour ! Back to the village, gentlemen ! — rightabout face ! 
Show those fellows, Corporal, how to rightabout face. Now, my 
dear, mount behind me on Snowball ; he’s easy as a sedan. Put 
your dear little foot on the toe of my boot. There now, — up ! — 
jump ! hurrah ! ” 

“ That's not the way, Captain,” shouted out Thomas, still holding 
on to the rein as the horse began to move. “ Thee woan’t goo with 
him, will thee, Catty ? ” 

But Mrs. Catherine, though she turned away her head, never let 
go her hold round the Captain’s waist ; and he, swearing a dreadful 
oath at Thomas, struck him across the face and hands with his riding- 
whip. The poor fellow, who at the first cut still held on to the rein, 
dropped it at the second, and as the pair galloped off, sat down on 
the roadside and fairly began to weep. 

“ March , you dog ! ” shouted out the Corporal a minute after. 
And so he did : and when next he saw Mrs. Catherine she was the 
Captain’s lady sure enough, and wore a grey hat with a blue feather, 
and red riding-coat trimmed with silver-lace. But Thomas was 
then on a barebacked horse, which Corporal Brock was flanking 


542 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


round a ring, and he was so occupied looking between his horse’s 
ears that he had no time to cry then, and at length got the better 
of his attachment. 


This being a good opportunity for closing Chapter I., we ought, 
perhaps, to make some apologies to the public for introducing them 
to characters that are so utterly worthless; as we confess all our 
heroes, with the exception of Mr. Bullock, to be. In this we have 
consulted nature and history, rather than the prevailing taste and 
the general manner of authors. The amusing novel of 4 ‘Ernest 
Mai tra vers,” for instance, opens with a seduction; but then it is 
performed by people of the strictest virtue on both sides : and there 
is so much religion and philosophy in the heart of the seducer, so 
much tender innocence in the soul of the seduced, that — bless the 
little dears ! — their very peccadilloes make one interested in them ; 
and their naughtiness becomes quite sacred, so deliciously is it 
described. Now, if we are to be interested by rascally actions, let 
us have them with plain faces, and let them be performed, not by 
virtuous philosophers, but by rascals. Another clever class of 
novelists adopt the contrary system, and create interest by making 
their rascals perform virtuous actions. Against these popular plans 
we here solemnly appeal. We say, let your rogues in novels act 
like rogues, and your honest men like honest men; don’t let us 
have any juggling and thimblerigging with virtue and vice, so that, 
at the end of three volumes, the bewildered reader shall not know 
which is which ; don’t let us find ourselves kindling at the generous 
qualities of thieves, and sympathising with the rascalities of noble 
hearts. For our own part, we know what the public likes, and 
have chosen rogues for our characters, and have taken a story from 
the “ Newgate Calendar,” which we hope to follow out to edification. 
Among the rogues, at least, we will have nothing that shall be 
mistaken for virtues. And if the British public (after calling for 
three or four editions) shall give up, not only our rascals, but the 
rascals of all other authors, we shall be content : — we shall apply to 
Government for a pension, and think that our duty is done. 


CHAPTER II 


IN WHICH ARE DEPICTED THE PLEASURES OF A SENTIMENTAL 
ATTACHMENT 

I T will not be necessary, for the purpose of this history, to follow 
out very closely all the adventures which occurred to Mrs. Cathe- 
rine from the period when she quitted the “ Bugle ” and became 
the Captain’s lady ; for although it would be just as easy to show as 
not, that the young woman, by following the man of her heart, had 
only yielded to an innocent impulse, and by remaining with him 
for a certain period, had proved the depth and strength of her 
affection for him, — although we might make very tender and 
eloquent apologies for the error of both parties, the reader might 
possibly be disgusted at such descriptions and such arguments : 
which, besides, are already done to his hand in the novel of “Ernest 
Maltravers ” before mentioned. 

From the gentleman’s manner towards Mrs. Catherine, and from 
his brilliant and immediate success, the reader will doubtless have 
concluded, in the first place, that Gustavus Adolphus had not a very 
violent affection for Mrs. Cat ; in the second place, that he was a 
professional lady-killer, and therefore likely at some period to 
resume his profession; thirdly, and to conclude, that a connection 
so begun, must, in the nature of things, be likely to end speedily. 

And so, to do the Count justice, it would, if he had been allowed 
to follow his own inclination entirely ; for (as many young gentle- 
men will, and yet no praise to them) in about a week he began to 
be indifferent, in a month to be weary, in two months to be angry, 
in three to proceed to blows and curses ; and, in short, to repent 
most bitterly the hour when he had ever been induced to present 
Mrs. Catherine the toe of his boot, for the purpose of lifting her 
on to his horse. 

“ Egad ! ” said he to the Corporal one day, when confiding his 
griefs to Mr. Brock, “ I wish my toe had been cut off before ever 
it served as a ladder to this little vixen.” 

“ Or perhaps your honour would wish to kick her downstairs 
with it ? ” delicately suggested Mr. Brock. 

“ Kick her ! why, the wench would hold so fast by the banisters 


544 CATHERINE: A STORY 

that I could not kick her down, Mr. Brock. To tell you a bit of a 
secret, I have tried as much — not to kick her — no, no, not kick her, 
certainly : that’s ungentlemanly — but to induce her to go back to 
that cursed pot-house where we fell in with her. I have given her 
many hints ” 

“ Oh yes, I saw your honour give her one yesterday — with a 
mug of beer. By the laws, as the ale run all down her face, and 
she clutched a knife to run at you, I don’t think I ever saw such 
a she-devil ! That woman will do for your honour some day, if you 
provoke her.” 

“ Do for me ? No, hang it, Mr. Brock, never ! She loves 
every hair of my head, sir : she worships me, Corporal. Egad, 
yes ! she worships me ; and would much sooner apply a knife to 
her own weasand than scratch my little finger ! ” 

“ I think she does,” said Mr. Brock. 

“ I’m sure of it,” said the Captain. “ Women, look you, are 
like dogs, they like to be ill-treated : they like it, sir ; I know they 
do. I never had anything to do with a woman in my life but I ill- 
treated her, and she liked me the better.” 

“ Mrs. Hall ought to be very fond of you then, sure enough ! ” 
said Mr. Corporal. 

“Very fond; — ha, ha! Corporal, you wag you — and so she 
is very fond. Yesterday, after the knife-and-beer scene— no wonder 
I threw the liquor in her face : it was so dev’lish flat that no gentle- 
man could drink it : and I told her never to draw it till dinner- 
time ” 

“ Oh, it was enough to put an angel in a fury ! ” said Brock. 

“ Well, yesterday, after the knife business, when you had 

got the carver out of her hand, off she flings to her bedroom, will 
not eat a bit of dinner, forsooth, and remains locked up for a 
couple of hours. At two o’clock afternoon (I was over a tankard), 
out comes the little she-devil, her face pale, her eyes bleared, and 
the tip of her nose as red as fire with sniffling and weeping. 
Making for my hand, ‘ Max,’ says she, ‘ will you forgive me ? 1 
‘ What ! ’ says I. ‘ Forgive a murderess 1 ’ says I. ‘No, curse 
me, never ! ’ ‘ Your cruelty will kill me,’ sobbed she. ‘ Cruelty 

be hanged ! ’ says I ; ‘ didn’t you draw that beer an hour before 
dinner?’ She could say nothing to this, you know, and I swore 
that every time she did so, I would fling it into her face again. 
Whereupon back she flounced to her chamber, where she wept and 
stormed until night-time.” 

“ When you forgave her ? ” 

“ I did forgive her, that’s positive. You see I had supped at 
the ‘ Rose ’ along with Tom Trippet and half-a-dozen pretty fellows ; 


DISCOURSE ON LOVE 


545 


and I had eased a great fat-headed Warwickshire land-junker — 
what d’ye call him 1 — squire, of forty pieces; and I’m dev’lish 
good-humoured when I’ve won, and so Cat and I made it up : but 
I’ve taught her never to bring me stale beer again — ha, ha ! ” 

This conversation will explain, a great deal better than any 
description of ours, however eloquent, the state of things as between 
Count Maximilian and Mrs. Catherine, and the feelings which they 
entertained for each other. The woman loved him, that was the 
fact. And, as we have shown in the previous chapter how John 
Hayes, a mean-spirited fellow as ever breathed, in respect of all 
other passions a pigmy, was in the passion of love a giant, and 
followed Mrs. Catherine with a furious longing which might seem at 
the first to be foreign to his nature ; in the like manner, and playing 
at cross-purposes, Mrs. Hall had become smitten of the Captain; 
and, as he said truly, only liked him the better for the brutality 
which she received at his hands. For it is my opinion, madam, 
that love is a bodily infirmity, from which humankind can no more 
escape than from small-pox; and which attacks every one of us, 
from the first duke in the Peerage down to Jack Ketch inclusive : 
which has no respect for rank, virtue, or roguery in man, but sets 
each in his turn in a fever ; which breaks out the deuce knows how 
or why, and, raging its appointed time, fills each individual of the 
one sex with a blind fury and longing for some one of the other 
(who may be pure, gentle, blue-eyed, beautiful, and good ; or vile, 
shrewish, squinting, hunchbacked, and hideous, according to circum- 
stances and luck) ; which dies away, perhaps, in the natural course, 
if left to have its way, but which contradiction causes to rage more 
furiously than ever. Is not history, from the Trojan war upwards 
and downwards, full of instances of such strange inexplicable passions ? 
Was not Helen, by the most moderate calculation, ninety years of 
age when she went oft’ with His Royal Highness Prince Paris of 
Troy ? Was not Madame La Vallikre ill-made, blear-eyed, tallow- 
complexioned, scraggy, and with hair like tow? Was not Wilkes 
the ugliest, charmingist, most successful man in the world ? Such 
instances might be carried out so as to fill a volume ; but cui bono ? 
Love is fate, and not will; its origin not to be explained, its 
progress irresistible : and the best proof of this may be had at 
Bow Street any day, where if you ask any officer of the establish- 
ment how they take most thieves, he will tell you at the houses 
of the women. They must see the dear creatures though they 
hang for it ; they will love, though they have their necks in the 
halter. And with regard to the other position, that ill-usage on 
the part of the man does not destroy the affection of the woman, 
have we not numberless police-reports, showing how, when a by- 
4 2 m 


546 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

stander would beat a husband for beating his wife, man and wife 
fall together on the interloper and punish him for his meddling ? 

These points, then, being settled to the satisfaction of all 
parties, the reader will not be disposed to question the assertion 
that Mrs. Hall had a real affection for the gallant Count, and grew, 
as Mr. Brock was pleased to say, like a beefsteak, more tender as 
she was thumped. Poor thing, poor thing ! his flashy airs and 
smart looks had overcome her in a single hour ; and no more is 
wanted to plunge into love over head and ears ; no more is wanted 
to make a first love with — and a woman’s first love lasts for ever 
(a man’s twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth is perhaps the best) : you 
can’t kill it, do what you will ; it takes root, and lives and even 
grows, never mind what the soil may be in which it is planted, 
or the bitter weather it must bear — often as one has seen a wall- 
flower grow — out of a stone. 

In the first weeks of their union, the Count had at least been 
liberal to her : she had a horse and fine clothes, and received 
abroad some of those flattering attentions which she held at such 
high price. He had, however, some ill-luck at play, or had been 
forced to pay some bills, or had some other satisfactory reason for 
being poor, and his establishment was very speedily diminished. 
He argued that, as Mrs. Catherine had been accustomed to wait 
on others all her life, she might now wait upon herself and him ; 
and when the incident of the beer arose, she had been for some 
time employed as the Count’s housekeeper, with unlimited super- 
intendence over his comfort, his cellar, his linen, and such matters 
as bachelors are delighted to make over to active female hands. 
To do the poor wretch justice, she actually kept the man’s menage 
in the best order ; nor was there any point of extravagance with 
which she could be charged, except a little extravagance of dress 
displayed on the very few occasions when he condescended to walk 
abroad with her, and extravagance of language and passion in the 
frequent quarrels they had together. Perhaps in such a connection 
as subsisted between this precious couple, these faults are inevitable 
on the part of the woman. She must be silly and vain, and will 
pretty surely therefore be fond of dress ; and she must, disguise it 
as she will, be perpetually miserable and brooding over her fall, 
which will cause her to be violent and quarrelsome. 

Such, at least, was Mrs. Hall; and very early did the poor 
vain misguided wretch begin to reap what she had sown. 

For a man, remorse under these circumstances is perhaps un- 
common. No stigma affixes on him for betraying a woman; no 
bitter pangs of mortified vanity ; no insulting looks of superiority 
from his neighbour, and no sentence of contemptuous banishment is 


A TURK OF FORTUNE 547 

read against him ; these all fall on the tempted, and not on the 
tempter, who is permitted to go free. The chief thing that a man 
learns after having successfully practised on a woman is to despise 
the poor wretch whom he has won. The game, in fact, and the 
glory, such as it is, is all his, and the punishment alone falls upon 
her. Consider this, ladies, when charming young gentlemen come 
to woo you with soft speeches. You have nothing to win, except 
wretchedness, and scorn, and desertion. Consider this, and be 
thankful to your Solomons for telling it. 

It came to pass, then, that the Count had come to have a 
perfect contempt and indifference for Mrs. Hall ; — how should he 
not for a young person who had given herself up to him so easily ? 
— and would have been quite glad of any opportunity of parting 
with her. But there was a certain lingering shame about the man, 
which prevented him from saying at once and abruptly, “ Go ! ” 
and the poor thing did not choose to take such hints as fell out in 
the course of their conversation and quarrels. And so they kept 
on together, he treating her with simple insult, and she hanging on 
desperately, by whatever feeble twig she could find, to the rock 
beyond which all was naught, or death, to her. 

Well, after the night with Tom Trippet and the pretty fellows 
at the “ Rose,” to which we have heard the Count allude in the 
conversation just recorded, Fortune smiled on him a good deal; 
for the Warwickshire squire, who had lost forty pieces on that 
occasion, insisted on having his revenge the night after ; when, 
strange to say, a hundred and fifty more found their way into the 
pouch of his Excellency the Count. Such a sum as this quite set 
the young nobleman afloat again, and brought back a pleasing 
equanimity to his mind, which had been a good deal disturbed in 
the former difficult circumstances ; and in this, for a little and to 
a certain extent, poor Cat had the happiness to share. He did 
not alter the style of his establishment, which consisted, as before, 
of herself and a small person who acted as scourer, kitchen-wench, 
and scullion ; Mrs. Catherine always putting her hand to the 
principal pieces of the dinner; but he treated his mistress with 
tolerable good-humour; or, to speak more correctly, with such 
bearable brutality as might be expected* from a man like him to a 
woman in her condition. Besides, a certain event was about to 
take place, which not unusually occurs in circumstances of this 
nature, and Mrs. Catherine was expecting soon to lie in. 

The Captain, distrusting naturally the strength of his own 
paternal feelings, had kindly endeavoured to provide a parent for 
the coming infant ; and to this end had opened a negotiation with 
our friend Mr. Thomas Bullock, declaring that Mrs. Cat should 


548 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


have a fortune of twenty guineas, and reminding Tummas of his 
ancient flame for her : but Mr. Tummas, when this proposition 
was made to him, declined it, with many oaths, and vowed that 
he was perfectly satisfied with his present bachelor condition. In 
this dilemma, Mr. Brock stepped forward, who declared himself 
very ready to accept Mrs. Catherine and her fortune : and might 
possibly have become the possessor of both, had not Mrs. Cat, the 
moment she heard of the proposed arrangement, with fire in her 
eyes, and rage— oh, how bitter ! — in her heart, prevented the suc- 
cess of the measure by proceeding incontinently to the first justice 
of the peace, and there swearing before his worship who was the 
father of the coming child. 

This proceeding, which she had expected would cause not a 
little indignation on the part of her lord and master, was received 
by him, strangely enough, with considerable good-humour : he swore 
that the wench had served him a good trick, and was rather amused 
at the anger, the outbreak of fierce rage and contumely, and the 
wretched, wretched tears of heart-sick desperation, which followed 
her announcement of this step to him. For Mr. Brock, she repelled 
his offer with scorn and loathing, and treated the notion of a union 
with Mr. Bullock with yet fiercer contempt. Marry him indeed ! 
a workhouse pauper carrying a brown-bess ! She would have died 
sooner, she said, or robbed on the highway. And so, to do her 
justice, she would : for the little minx was one of the vainest 
creatures in existence, and vanity (as I presume everybody knows) 
becomes the principle in certain women’s hearts — their moral 
spectacles, their conscience, their meat and drink, their only rule 
of right and wrong. 

As for Mr. Tummas, he, as we have seen, was quite as un- 
friendly to the proposition as she could be ; and the Corporal, with 
a good deal of comical gravity, vowed that, as he could not be 
satisfied in his dearest wishes, he would take to drinking for a 
consolation : which he straightway did. 

“Come, Tummas,” said he to Mr. Bullock, “since we can’t 
have the girl of our hearts, why, hang it, Tummas, let’s drink her 
health ! ” To which Bullock had no objection. And so strongly 
did the disappointment weigh upon honest Corporal Brock, that 
even when, after unheard-of quantities of beer, he could scarcely 
utter a word, he was seen absolutely to weep, and, in accents 
almost unintelligible, to curse his confounded ill-luck at being de- 
prived, not of a wife, but of a child : he wanted one so, he said, 
to comfort him in his old age. 

The time of Mrs. Catherine’s couche drew near, arrived, and 
was gone through safely. She presented to the world a chopping 


CAT FINDS A CONFIDANT 549 

boy, who might use, if he liked, the Galgenstein arms with a bar- 
sinister ; and in her new cares and duties had not so many oppor- 
tunities as usual of quarrelling with the Count: who, perhaps, 
respected her situation, or, at least, was so properly aware of the 
necessity of quiet to her, that he absented himself from home 
morning, noon, and night. 

The Captain had, it must be confessed, turned these continued 
absences to a considerable worldly profit, for he played incessantly ; 
and, since his first victory over the Warwickshire Squire, Fortune 
had been so favourable to him, that he had at various intervals 
amassed a sum of nearly a thousand pounds, which he used to 
bring home as he won ; and which he deposited in a strong iron 
chest, cunningly screwed down by himself under his own bed. This 
Mrs. Catherine regularly made, and the treasure underneath it could 
be no secret to her. However, the noble Count kept the key, and 
bound her by many solemn oaths (that he discharged at her himself) 
not to reveal to any other person the existence of the chest and its 
contents. 

But it is not in a woman’s nature to keep such secrets ; and 
the Captain, who left her for days and days, did not reflect that 
she would seek for confidants elsewhere. For want of a female 
companion, she was compelled to bestow her sympathies upon Mr. 
Brock; who, as the Count’s corporal, was much in his lodgings, 
and who did manage to survive the disappointment which he had 
experienced by Mrs. Catherine’s refusal of him. 

About two months after the infant’s birth, the Captain, who 
was annoyed by its squalling, put it abroad to nurse, and dismissed 
its attendant. Mrs. Catherine now resumed her household duties, 
and was, as before, at once mistress and servant of the establish- 
ment. As such, she had the keys of the beer, and was pretty sure 
of the attentions of the Corporal ; who became, as we have said, in 
the Count’s absence, his lady’s chief friend and companion. After 
the manner of ladies, she very speedily confided to him all her 
domestic secrets ; the causes of her former discontent ; the Count’s 
ill-treatment of her; the wicked names he called her; the prices 
that all her gowns had cost her ; how he beat her ; how much money 
he won and lost at play ; how she had once pawned a coat for him ; 
how he had four new ones, laced, and paid for ; what was the best 
way of cleaning and keeping gold-lace, of making cherry-brandy, • 
pickling salmon, &c. &G. Her confidences upon all these subjects 
used to follow each other in rapid succession ; and Mr. Brock be- 
came, ere long, quite as well acquainted with the Captain’s history 
for the last year as the Count himself : — for he was careless, and 
forgot things ; women never do. They chronicle all the lover’s small 


550 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

actions, his words, his headaches, the dresses he has worn, the things 
he has liked for dinner on certain days ; — all which circumstances 
commonly are expunged from the male brain immediately after they 
have occurred, but remain fixed with the female. 

To Brock, then, and to Brock only (for she knew no other soul), 
Mrs. Cat breathed, in strictest confidence, the history of the Count’s 
winnings, and his way of disposing of them ; how he kept his money 
screwed down in an iron chest in their room ; and a very lucky 
fellow did Brock consider his officer for having such a large sum. 
He and Cat looked at the chest : it was small, but mighty strong, 
sure enough, and would defy picklocks and thieves. Well, if any 
man deserved money, the Captain did (“ though he might buy me a 
few yards of that lace I love so,” interrupted Cat), — if any man 
deserved money, he did, for he spent it like a prince, and his hand 
was always in his pocket. 

It must now be stated that Monsieur de Galgenstein had, during 
Cat’s seclusion, cast his eyes upon a young lady of good fortune, 
who frequented the Assembly at Birmingham, and who was not a 
little smitten by his title and person. The “ four new coats, laced, 
and paid for,” as Cat said, had been purchased, most probably, by 
his Excellency for the purpose of dazzling the heiress ; and he and 
the coats had succeeded so far as to win from the young woman an 
actual profession of love, and a promise of marriage provided pa 
would consent. This was obtained, — for pa was a tradesman ; and 
I suppose every one of my readers has remarked how great an effect 
a title has on the lower classes. Yes, thank Heaven ! there is about 
a freeborn Briton a cringing baseness, and lickspittle awe of rank, 
which does not exist under any tyranny in Europe, and is only to 
be found here and in America. 

All these negotiations had been going on quite unknown to Cat ; 
and, as the Captain had determined, before two months were out, 
to fling that young woman on the pave, he was kind to her in the 
meanwhile : people always are when they are swindling you, or 
meditating an injury against you. 

The poor girl had much too high an opinion of her own charms 
to suspect that the Count could be unfaithful to them, and had no 
notion of the plot that was formed against her. But Mr. Brock 
had : for he had seen many times a gilt coach with a pair of fat 
white horses ambling in the neighbourhood of the town, and the 
Captain on his black steed caracolling majestically by its side ; and 
he had remarked a fat, pudgy, pale-haired woman treading heavily 
down the stairs of the Assembly, leaning on the Captain’s arm : all 
these Mr. Brock had seen, not without reflection. Indeed, the 
Count one day, in great good-humour, had slapped him on the 


THE CAT LET OUT OF THE BAG 


551 


shoulder and told him that he was about speedily to purchase a 
regiment ; when, by his great gods, Mr. Brock should have a pair 
of colours. Perhaps this promise occasioned his silence to Mrs. 
Catherine hitherto ; perhaps he never would have peached at all ; 
and perhaps, therefore, this history would never have been written, 
but for a small circumstance which occurred at this period. 

“ What can you want with that drunken old Corporal always 
about your quarters *? ” said Mr. Trippet to the Count one day, as 
they sat over their wine, in the midst of a merry company, at the 
Captain’s rooms. 

“What!” said he. “Old Brock*? The old thief has been 
more useful to me than many a better man. He is as brave in a 
row as a lion, as cunning in intrigue as a fox; he can nose a dun 
at an inconceivable distance, and scent out a pretty woman be she 
behind ever so many stone walls. If a gentleman wants a good 
rascal now, I can recommend him. I am going to reform, you 
know, and must turn him out of my service.” 

“ And pretty Mrs. Cat *? ” 

“ Oh, curse pretty Mrs. Cat ! she may go too.” 

“ And the brat *? ” 

“Why, you have parishes, and what not, here in England. 
Egad ! if a gentleman were called upon to keep all his children, 
there would be no living : no, stap my vitals ! Croesus couldn’t 
stand it.” 

“No, indeed,” said Mr. Trippet : “ you are right ; and when a 
gentleman marries, he is bound in honour to give up such low con- 
nections as are useful when he is a bachelor.” 

“Of course ; and give them up I will, when the sweet Mrs. Drip- 
ping is mine. As for the girl, you can have her, Tom Trippet, if you 
take a fancy to her ; and as for the Corporal, he may be handed 
over to my successor in Cutts’s : — for’ I will have a regiment to 
myself, that’s poz ; and to take with me such a swindling, pimping, 
thieving, brandy-faced rascal as this Brock will never do. Egad ! 
he’s a disgrace to the service. As it is, I’ve often a mind to have 
the superannuated vagabond drummed out of the corps.” 

Although this rfeumt of Mr. Brock’s character and accomplish- 
ments was very just, it came perhaps with an ill grace from Count 
Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian, who had profited by all his quali- 
ties, and who certainly would never have given this opinion of them 
had he known that the door of his dining-parlour was open, and that 
the gallant Corporal, who was in the passage, could hear every 
syllable that fell from the lips of his commanding officer. We shall 
not say, after the fashion of the story-books, that Mr. Brock listened 
with a flashing eye and a distended nostril ; that his chest heaved 


552 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


tumultuously, and that his hand fell down mechanically to his side, 
where it played with the brass handle of his sword. Mr. Kean 
would have gone through most of these bodily exercises had he 
been acting the part of a villain enraged and disappointed like 
Corporal Brock; but that gentleman walked away without any 
gestures of any kind, and as gently as possible. “ He’ll turn me 
out of the regiment, will he ? ” says he, quite piano ; and then 
added ( con molta espressione), “I’ll do for him.” 

And it is to be remarked how generally, in cases of this nature, 
gentlemen stick to their word. 


CHAPTER III 


IN WHICH A NARCOTIC IS ADMINISTERED, AND A GREAT 
DEAL OF GENTEEL SOCIETY DEPICTED 

W HEN the Corporal, who had retreated to the street-door 
immediately on hearing the above conversation, returned 
to the Captain’s lodgings and paid his respects to Mrs. 
Catherine, he found that lady in high good-humour. The Count 
had been with her, she said, along with a friend of his, Mr. Trippet; 
had promised her twelve yards of the lace she coveted so much ; 
had vowed that the child should have as much more for a cloak ; 
and had not left her -until he had sat with her for an hour, or more, 
over a bowl of punch, which he made on purpose for her. Mr. 
Trippet stayed too. “A mighty pleasant man,” said she; “only 
not very wise, and seemingly a good deal in liquor.” 

“A good deal indeed !” said the Corporal. “He was so tipsy 
just now that he could hardly stand. He and his honour were 
talking to Nan Fantail in the market-place ; and she pulled Trippet’s 
wig off, for wanting to kiss her.” 

“ The nasty fellow ! ” said Mrs. Cat, “to demean himself with 
such low people as Nan Fantail, indeed ! Why, upon my conscience 
now, Corporal, it was but an hour ago that Mr. Trippet swore he 
never saw such a pair of eyes as mine, and would like to cut the 
Captain’s throat for the love of me. Nan Fantail, indeed ! ” 

“ Nan’s an honest girl, Madam Catherine, and was a great 
favourite of the Captain’s before some one else came in his way. 
No one can say a word against her — not a word.” 

“And pray, Corporal, who ever did?” said Mrs. Cat, rather 
offended. “ A nasty, ugly slut ! I wonder what the men can see 
in her ? ” 

“She has got a smart way with her, sure enough; it’s what 
amuses the men, and ” 

“And what? You don’t mean to say that my Max is fond of 
her now ? ” said Mrs. Catherine, looking very fierce. 

“ Oh, no ; not at all : not of her ; — that is ” 

“Not of her I ” screamed she. “ Of whom, then ? ” 

“ Oh, psha ! nonsense ! Of you, my dear, to be sure ; who else 


554 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


should he care for 1 ? And, besides, what business is it of mine?” 
And herewith the Corporal began whistling, as if he would have no 
more of the conversation. But Mrs. Cat was not to be satisfied, — 
not she, — and carried on her cross-questions. 

“Why, look you,” said the Corporal, after parrying many of 
these, — “Why, look you, I’m an old fool, Catherine, and I must 
blab. That man has been the best friend I ever had, and so I was 
quiet ; but I can’t keep it in any longer, — no, hang me if I can ! It’s 
my belief he’s acting like a rascal by you : he deceives you, Catherine; 
he’s a scoundrel, Mrs. Hall, that’s the truth on’t.” 

Catherine prayed him to tell all he knew ; and he resumed. 

“ He wants you off his hands ; he’s sick of you, and so brought 
here that fool Tom Trippet, who has taken a fancy to you. He 
has not the courage to turn you out of doors like a man ; though 
indoors he can treat you like a beast. But I’ll tell you what he’ll 
do. In a month he will go to Coventry, or pretend to go there, on 
recruiting business. No such thing, Mrs. Hall ; he’s going on 
marriage business; and he’ll leave you without a farthing, to starve 
or to rot, for him. It’s all arranged, I tell you : in a month, you 
are to be starved into becoming Tom Trippet’s mistress ; and his 
honour is to marry rich Miss Dripping, the twenty-thousand-pounder 
from London ; and to purchase a regiment ; — and to get old Brock 
drummed out of Cutts’s too,” said the Corporal, under his breath. 
But he might have spoken out, if he chose ; for the poor young 
woman had sunk on the ground in a real honest fit. 

“ I thought I should give it her,” said Mr. Brock as he procured 
a glass of water ; and, lifting her on to a sofa, sprinkled the same 
over her. “ Hang it ! how pretty she is.” 

When Mrs. Catherine came to herself again, Brock’s tone with 
her was kind, and almost feeling. Nor did the poor wench herself 
indulge in any subsequent shiverings and hysterics, such as usually 
follow the fainting-fits of persons of higher degree. She pressed 
him for further explanations, which he gave, and to which she 
listened with a great deal of calmness ; nor did many tears, sobs, 
sighs, or exclamations of sorrow or anger escape from her : only 
when the Corporal was taking his leave, and said to her point-blank, 
— “Well, Mrs. Catherine, and what do you intend to do?” she did 
not reply a word ; but gave a look which made him exclaim, on 
leaving the room — 

“ By heavens ! the woman means murder ! I would not be the 
Holofemes to lie by the side of such a Judith as that — not I ! ” 
And he went his way, immersed in deep thought. When the 
Captain returned at night, she did not speak to him ; and when 


555 


MRS. CAT PROCURES POISON 

he swore at her for being sulky, she only said she had a headache, 
and was dreadfully ill; with which excuse Gustavus Adolphus 
seemed satisfied, and left her to herself. 

He saw her the next morning for a moment : he was going 
a-shooting. 

Catherine had no friend, as is usual in tragedies and romances, 
— no mysterious sorceress of her acquaintance to whom she could 
apply for poison, — so she went simply to the apothecaries, pre- 
tending at each that she had a dreadful toothache, and procuring 
from them as much laudanum as she thought would suit her 
purpose. 

When she went home again she seemed almost gay. Mr. Brock 
complimented her upon the alteration in her appearance ; and she 
was enabled to receive the Captain at his return from shooting in 
such a manner as made him remark that she had got rid of her sulks 
of the morning, and might sup with them, if she chose to keep her 
good-humour. The supper was got ready, and the gentlemen had 
the punch-bowl when the cloth was cleared, — Mrs. Catherine, with 
her delicate hands, preparing the liquor. 

It is useless to describe the conversation that took place, or to 
reckon the number of bowls that were emptied, or to tell how Mr. 
Trippet, who was one of the guests, and declined to play at cards 
when some of the others began, chose to remain by Mrs. Catherine’s 
side, and make violent love to her. All this might be told, and the 
account, however faithful, would not be very pleasing. No, indeed ! 
And here, though we are only in the third chapter of this history, 
we feel almost sick of the characters that appear in it, and the 
adventures which they are called upon to go through. But how 
can we help ourselves ? The public will hear of nothing but 
rogues; and the only way in which poor authors, who must live, 
can act honestly by the public and themselves, is to paint such 
thieves as they are : not dandy, poetical, rose-water thieves ; but 
real downright scoundrels, leading scoundrelly lives, drunken, pro- 
fligate, dissolute, low; as scoundrels will be. They don’t quote 
Plato, like Eugene Aram; or live like gentlemen, and sing the 
pleasantest ballads in the world, like jolly Dick Turpin ; or prate 
eternally about to KaXov, like that precious canting Maltravers, 
whom we all of us have read about and pitied ; or die whitewashed 
saints, like poor “Biss Dadsy ” in “Oliver Twist.” No, my dear 
madam, you and your daughters have no right to admire and 
sympathise with any such persons, fictitious or real : you ought 
to be made cordially to detest, scorn, loathe, abhor, and abominate 
all people of this kidney. Men of genius like those whose works 
we have above alluded to, have no business to make these characters 


556 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


interesting or agreeable ; to be feeding your morbid fancies, or in- 
dulging their own, with such monstrous food. For our parts, young 
ladies, we beg you to bottle up your tears, and not waste a single 
drop of them on any one of the heroes or heroines in this history : 
they are all rascals, every soul of them, and behave “as sich.” 
Keep your sympathy for those who deserve it : don’t carry it, for 
preference, to the Old Bailey, and grow maudlin over the company 
assembled there. 

Just, then, have the kindness to fancy that the conversation 
which took place over the bowls of punch which Mrs. Catherine 
prepared, was such as might be expected to take place where the 
host was a dissolute, dare-devil, libertine captain of dragoons, the 
guests for the most part of the same class, and the hostess a young 
woman originally from a country alehouse, and for the present mistress 
to the entertainer of the society. They talked, and they drank, 
and they grew tipsy ; and very little worth hearing occurred during 
the course of the whole evening. Mr. Brock officiated, half as the 
servant, half as the companion of the society. Mr. Thomas Trippet 
made violent love to Mrs. Catherine, while her lord and master was 
playing at dice with the other gentlemen : and on this night, strange to 
say, the Captain’s fortune seemed to desert him. The Warwickshire 
Squire, from whom he had won so much, had an amazing run of 
good luck. The Captain called perpetually for more drink, and 
higher stakes, and lost almost every throw. Three hundred, four 
hundred, six hundred — all his winnings of the previous months were 
swallowed up in the course of a few hours. The Corporal looked 
on; and, to do him justice, seemed very grave as, sum by sum, 
the Squire scored down the Count’s losses on the paper before 
him. 

Most of the company had taken their hats and staggered off. 
The Squire and Mr. Trippet were the only two that remained, the 
latter still lingering by Mrs. Catherine’s sofa and table ; and as she, 
as we have stated, had been employed all the evening in mixing the 
liquor for the gamesters, he was at the headquarters of love and 
drink, and had swallowed so much of each as hardly to be able to 
speak. 

The dice went rattling on ; the candles were burning dim, with 
great long wicks. Mr. Trippet could hardly see the Captain, and 
thought, as far as his muzzy reason would let him, that the Captain 
could not see him : so he rose from his chair as well as he could, 
and fell down on Mrs. Catherine’s sofa. His eyes were fixed, his 
face was pale, his jaw hung down ; and he flung out his arms and 
said, in a maudlin voice, “ Oh, you byoo-oo-oo-tiffle Cathrine, I must 
have a kick-kick-iss.” 


A GAMBLING ORGIE 


55 7 


“ Beast ! ” said Mrs. Catherine, and pushed him away. The 
drunken wretch fell off the sofa, and on to the floor, where he 
stayed ; and, after snorting out some unintelligible sounds, went 
to sleep. 

The dice went rattling on ; the candles were burning dim, with 
great long wicks. 

“ Seven’s the main,” cried the Count. “ Four. Three to two 
against the caster.” 

“ Ponies,” said the Warwickshire Squire. 

Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, clatter, nine. Clap, clap, clap, 
clap, eleven. Clutter, clutter, clutter, clutter : “ Seven it is,” 
says the Warwickshire Squire. “ That makes eight hundred, 
Count.” 

“ One throw for two hundred,” said the Count. “ But stop ! 
Cat, give us some more punch.” 

Mrs. Cat came forward ; she looked a little pale, and her hand 
trembled somewhat. “ Here is the punch, Max,” said she. It was 
steaming hot, in a large glass. “ Don’t drink it all,” said she ; 
“ leave me some.” 

“ How dark it is ! ” said the Count, eyeing it. 

“ It’s the brandy,” said Cat. 

“ Well, here goes ! Squire, curse you ! here’s your health, and 
bad luck to you ! ” and he gulped off more than half the liquor at a 
draught. But presently he put down the glass and cried, “ What 
infernal poison is this, Cat 1 ” 

“ Poison ! ” said she. “ It’s no poison. Give me the glass.” 
And she pledged Max, and drank a little of it. “ ’Tis good punch, 
Max, and of my brewing; I don’t think you will ever get any 
better.” And she went back to the sofa again, and sat down, and 
looked at the players. 

Mr. Brock looked at her white face and fixed eyes with a grim 
kind of curiosity. The Count sputtered, and cursed the horrid taste 
of the punch still; but he presently took the box, and made his 
threatened throw. 

As before, the Squire beat him; and having booked his win- 
nings, rose from table as well as he might and besought Corporal 
Brock to lead him downstairs ; which Mr. Brock did. 

Liquor had evidently stupefied the Count : he sat with his 
head between his hands, muttering wildly about ill-luck, seven’s 
the main, bad punch, and so on. The street-door banged to ; and 
the steps of Brock and the Squire were heard, until they could be 
heard no more. 

“Max,” said she; but he did not answer, 
again, laying her hand on his shoulder. 


“Max,” said she 


558 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


“Curse you,” said that gentleman, “keep off, and don’t be 

laying your paws upon me. Go to bed, you jade, or to , for 

what I care ; and give me first some more punch — a gallon more 
punch, do you hear ? ” 

The gentleman, by the curses at the commencement of this 
little speech, and the request contained at the end of it, showed 
that his losses vexed him, and that he was anxious to forget them 
temporarily. 

“ Oh, Max ! ” whimpered Mrs. Cat, “ you — don’t — want — any 
more punch ? ” 

“ Don’t ! Shan’t I be drunk in my own house, you cursed 
whimpering jade, you ? Get out ! ” and with this the Captain pro- 
ceeded to administer a blow upon Mrs. Catherine’s cheek. 

Contrary to her custom, she did not avenge it, or seek to do 
so, as on the many former occasions when disputes of this nature 
had arisen between the Count and her; but now Mrs. Catherine 
fell on her knees and, clasping her hands and looking pitifully in 
the Count’s face, cried, “ Oh, Count, forgive me, forgive me ! ” 

“ Forgive you ! What for ? Because I slapped your face ? Ha, 
ha ! I’ll forgive you again, if you don’t mind.” 

“ Oh, no, no, no ! ” said she, wringing her hands. “ It isn’t 
that. Max, dear Max, will you forgive me? It isn’t the blow — 
I don’t mind that ; it’s ” 

“ It’s what, you — maudlin fool ? ” 

“ It's the punch ! ” 

The Count, who was more than half seas over, here assumed 
an air of much tipsy gravity. “The punch! No, I never will 
forgive you that last glass of punch. Of all the foul, beastly 
drinks I ever tasted, that was the worst. No, I never will forgive 
you that punch.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t that, it isn’t that ! ” said she. 

“ I tell you it is that, you ! That punch, I say that 

punch was no better than paw — aw — oison.” And here the 
Count’s head sank back, and he fell to snore. 

“ It was poison ! ” said she. 

“ What ! ” screamed he, waking up at once, and spurning her 
away from him. “What, you infernal murderess, have you 
killed me?” 

“ Oh, Max ! — don’t kill me, Max ! It was laudanum — indeed 
it was. You were going to be married, and I was furious, and I 
went and got ” 

“Hold your tongue, you fiend,” roared out the Count; and 
with more presence of mind than politeness, he flung the remainder 
of the liquor (and, indeed, the glass with it) at the head of Mrs. 


THE CAPTAIN’S ANTIDOTE 55 9 

Catherine. But the poisoned chalice missed its mark, and fell 
right on the nose of Mr. Tom Trippet, who was left asleep and 
unobserved under the table. 

Bleeding, staggering, swearing, indeed a ghastly sight, up sprang 
Mr. Trippet, and drew his rapier. “Come on,” says he; “never 
say die ! What’s the row ? I’m ready for a dozen of you.” And 
he made many blind and furious passes about the room. 

“ Curse you, we’ll die together ! ” shouted the Count, as he too 
pulled out his toledo, and sprang at Mrs. Catherine. 

“ Help ! murder ! thieves ! ” shrieked she. “ Save me, Mr. 
Trippet, save me ! ” and she placed that gentleman between herself 
and the Count, and then made for the door of the bedroom, and 
gained it, and bolted it. 

“Out of the way, Trippet,” roared the Count— “out of the 
way, you drunken beast ! I’ll murder her, I will — I’ll have the 
devil’s life.” And here he gave a swinging cut at Mr. Trippet’s 
sword : it sent the weapon whirling clean out of his hand, and 
through a window into the street. 

“ Take my life, then,” said Mr. Trippet : “ I’m drunk, but I’m 
a man, and, damme ! will never say die.” 

“ I don’t want your life, you stupid fool. Hark you, Trippet, 
wake and be sober, if you can. That woman has heard of my 
marriage with Miss Dripping.” 

“ Twenty thousand pound,” ejaculated Trippet. 

“ She has been jealous, I tell you, and poisoned us. She has 
put laudanum into the punch.” 

“ What, in my punch 1 ” said Trippet, growing quite sober and 
losing his courage. “ 0 Lord ! 0 Lord ! ” 

“ Don’t stand howling there, but run for a doctor ; ’tis our only 
chance.” And away ran Mr. Trippet, as if the deuce were at his 
heels. 

The Count had forgotten his murderous intentions regarding his 
mistress, or had deferred them at least, under the consciousness of 
his own pressing danger. And it must be said, in the praise of a 
man who had fought for and against Marlborough and Tallard, that 
his courage in this trying and novel predicament never for a moment 
deserted him, but that he showed the greatest daring, as well as 
ingenuity, in meeting and averting the danger. He flew to the 
sideboard, where were the relics of a supper, and seizing the 
mustard and salt pots, and a bottle of oil, he emptied them all into 
a jug, into which he further poured a vast quantity of hot water. 
This pleasing mixture he then, without a moment’s hesitation, 
placed to his lips, and swallowed as much of it as nature would allow 
him. But when he had imbibed about a quart, the anticipated 


560 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

effect was produced, and he was enabled, by the power of this 
ingenious extemporaneous emetic, to get rid of much of the poison 
which Mrs. Catherine had administered to him. 

He was employed in these efforts when the doctor entered, along 
with Mr. Brock and Mr. Trippet ; who was not a little pleased to 
hear that the poisoned punch had not in all probability been given 
to him. He was recommended to take some of the Count’s mixture, 
as a precautionary measure ; but this he refused, and retired home, 
leaving the Count under charge of the physician and his faithful 
Corporal. 

It is not necessary to say what further remedies were employed 
by them to restore the Captain to health ; but after some time the 
doctor, pronouncing that the danger was, he hoped, averted, recom- 
mended that his patient should be put to bed, and that somebody 
should sit by him ; which Brock promised to do. 

“That she-devil will murder me, if you don’t,” gasped the poor 
Count. “You must turn her out of the bedroom ; or break open 
the door, if she refuses to let you in.” 

And this step was found to be necessary; for, after shouting 
many times, and in vain, Mr. Brock found a small iron bar (indeed, 
he had the instrument for many days in his pocket), and forced the 
lock. The room was empty, the window was open : the pretty 
barmaid of the “ Bugle ” had fled. 

“The chest,” said the Count — “is the chest safe 1 ?” 

The Corporal flew to the bed, under which it was screwed, and 
looked, and said, “ It is safe, thank Heaven ! ” The window was 
closed. The Captain, who was too weak to stand without help, 
was undressed and put to bed. The Corporal sat down by his side ; 
slumber stole over the eyes of the patient ; and his wakeful nurse 
marked with satisfaction the progress of the beneficent restorer 
of health. 

When the Captain awoke, as he did some time afterwards, he 
found, very much to his surprise, that a gag had been placed in his 
mouth, and that the Corporal was in the act of wheeling his bed 
to another part of the room. He attempted to move, and gave 
utterance to such unintelligible sounds as could issue through a silk 
handkerchief. 

“ If your honour stirs or cries out in the least, I will cut your 
honour’s throat,” said the Corporal. 

And then, having recourse to his iron bar (the reader will now 
see why he was provided with such an implement, for he had been 
meditating this coup for some days), he proceeded first to attempt 
to burst the lock of the little iron chest in which the Count kept 


THE BITER BIT 56 1 

his treasure, and, failing in this, to unscrew it from the ground; 
which operation he performed satisfactorily. 

“You see, Count,” said he calmly, “when rogues fall out, 
there’s the deuce to pay. You’ll have me drummed out of the 
regiment, will you] I’m going to leave it of my own accord, 
look you, and to live like a gentleman for the rest of my days. 
Schlafen Sie wohl, noble Captain : bon repos. The Squire will 
be with you pretty early in the morning, to ask for the money 
you owe him.” 

With these sarcastic observations Mr. Brock departed; not by 
the window, as Mrs. Catherine had done, but by the door, quietly, 
and so into the street. And when, the next morning, the doctor 
came to visit his patient, he brought with him a story how, at the 
dead of night, Mr. Brock had roused the ostler at the stables where 
the Captain’s horses were kept — had told him that Mrs. Catherine 
had poisoned the Count, and had run off with a thousand pounds ; 
and how he and all lovers of justice ought to scour the country in 
pursuit of the criminal. For this end Mr. Brock mounted the 
Count’s best horse — that very animal on which he had carried away 
Mrs. Catherine : and thus, on a single night, Count Maximilian had 
lost his mistress, his money, his horse, his corporal, and was very 
near losing his life. 


CHAPTER IV 


IN WHICH MRS. CATHERINE BECOMES AN HONEST 
WOMAN AGAIN 

I N this woeful plight, moneyless, wifeless, horseless, corporalless, 
with a gag in his mouth and a rope round his body, are we 1 
compelled to leave the gallant Galgenstein, until his friends and ' 
the progress of this history shall deliver him from his durance. 
Mr. Brock’s adventures on the Captain’s horse must likewise be ; 
pretermitted ; for it is our business to follow Mrs. Catherine through 
the window by which she made her escape, and among the various 
chances that befell her. 

She had one cause to congratulate herself, — that she had not 
her baby at her back ; for the infant was safely housed under the 
care of a nurse, to whom the Captain was answerable. Beyond 
this her prospects were but dismal : no home to fly to, but a few 
shillings in her pocket, and a whole heap of injuries and dark 
revengful thoughts in her bosom : it was a sad task to her to look 
either backwards or forwards. Whither was she to fly ? How to 
live 1 ? What good chance was to befriend her? There was an 
angel watching over the steps of Mrs. Cat — not a good one, I 
think, but one of those from that unnameable place, who have 
their many subjects here on earth, and often are pleased to extricate 1 
them from worse perplexities. 

Mrs. Cat, now, had not committed murder, but as bad as j 
murder; and as she felt not the smallest repentance in her heart ] 
— as she had, in the course of her life and connection with the j 
Captain, performed and gloried in a number of wicked coquetries, 
idlenesses, vanities, lies, fits of anger, slanders, foul abuses, and 
what not — she was fairly bound over to this dark angel whom we 
have alluded to : and he dealt with her, and aided her, as one of 
his own children. 

I do not mean to say that, in this strait, he appeared to her 
in the likeness of a gentleman in black, and made her sign her | 
name in blood to a document conveying over to him her soul, in 
exchange for certain conditions to be performed by him. Such : 
diabolical bargains have always appeared to me unworthy of the 


56*3 


MRS. CAT’S FLIGHT 

astute personage who is supposed to be one of the parties to them ; 
and who would scarcely be fool enough to pay dearly for that 
which he can have in a few years for nothing. It is not, then, 
to be supposed that a demon of darkness appeared to Mrs. Cat, 
and led her into a flaming chariot harnessed by dragons, and 
careering through air at the rate of a thousand leagues a minute. 
No such thing ; the vehicle that was sent to aid her was one of 
a much more vulgar description. 

The “Liverpool carry van,” then, which in the year 1706 used 
to perform the journey between London and that place in ten days, 
left Birmingham about an hour after Mrs. Catherine had quitted 
that town ; and as she sat weeping on a hillside, and plunged in 
bitter meditation, the lumbering, jingling vehicle overtook her. 
The coachman was marching by the side of his horses, and en- 
couraging them to maintain their pace of two miles an hour; the 
passengers had some of them left the vehicle, in order to walk 
up the hill; and the carriage had arrived at the top of it, and, 
meditating a brisk trot down the declivity, waited there until the 
lagging passengers should arrive : when Jehu, casting a good-natured 
glance upon Mrs. Catherine, asked the pretty maid whence she was 
come, and whether she would like a ride in his carriage. To the 
latter of which questions Mrs. Catherine replied truly yes ; to the 
former, her answer was that she had come from Stratford ; whereas, 
as we very well know, she had lately quitted Birmingham. 

“ Hast thee seen a woman pass this way, on a black horse, 
with a large bag of goold over the saddle ? ” said Jehu, preparing 
to mount upon the roof of his coach. 

“ No, indeed,” said Mrs. Cat. 

“Nor a trooper on another horse after her — no? Well, there 
be a mortal row down Birmingham way about sich a one. She 
have killed, they say, nine gentlemen at supper, and have strangled 
a German prince in bed. She have robbed him of twenty thousand 
guineas, and have rode away on a black horse.” 

“That can’t be I,” said Mrs. Cat naively, “for I have but 
three shillings and a groat.” 

“No, it can’t be thee, truly, for where’s your bag of goold? 
and, besides, thee hast got too pretty a face to do such wicked 
things as to kill nine gentlemen and strangle a German prince.” 

“ Law, coachman,” said Mrs. Cat, blushing archly — “ Law, 
coachman, do you think so?” The girl would have been pleased 
with a compliment even on her way to be hanged ; and the parley 
ended by Mrs. Catherine stepping into the carriage, where there 
was room for eight people at least, and where two or three indi- 
viduals had already taken their places. 


564 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


For these Mrs. Catherine had in the first place to make a story, 
which she did ; and a very glib one for a person of her years and 
education. Being asked whither she was bound, and how she 
came to be alone of a morning sitting by a roadside, she invented 
a neat history suitable to the occasion, which elicited much interest 
from her fellow-passengers : one in particular, a young man, who 
had caught a glimpse of her face under her hood, was very tender 
in his attentions to her. 

But whether it was that she had been too much fatigued by 
the occurrences of the past day and sleepless night, or whether the 
little laudanum which she had drunk a few hours previously now 
began to act upon her, certain it is that Mrs. Cat now suddenly 
grew sick, feverish, and extraordinarily sleepy; and in this state 
she continued for many hours, to the pity of all her fellow-travellers. 
At length the “ carry van ” reached the inn, where horses and pas- 
sengers were accustomed to rest for a few hours, and to dine ; and 
Mrs. Catherine was somewhat awakened by the stir of the pas- 
sengers, and the friendly voice of the inn-servant welcoming them 
to dinner. The gentleman who had been smitten by her beauty 
now urged her very politely to descend; which, taking the pro- 
tection of his arm, she accordingly did. 

He made some very gallant speeches to her as she stepped out ; 
and she must have been very much occupied by them, or wrapt up 
in her own thoughts, or stupefied by sleep, fever, and opium, for 
she did not take any heed of the place into which she was going : 
which, had she done, she would probably have preferred remaining 
in the coach, dinnerless and ill. Indeed, the inn into which she 
was about to make her entrance was no other than the “ Bugle,” 
from which she set forth at the commencement of this history; 
and which then, as now, was kept by her relative, the thrifty Mrs. 
Score. That good landlady, seeing a lady, in a smart hood and 
cloak, leaning, as if faint, upon the arm of a gentleman of good 
appearance, concluded them to be man and wife, and folks of quality 
too ; and with much discrimination, as well as sympathy, led them 
through the public kitchen to her own private parlour, or bar, 
where she handed the lady an arm-chair, and asked what she would 
like to drink. By this time, and indeed at the very moment she 
heard her aunt’s voice, Mrs. Catherine was aware of her situation ; 
and when her companion retired, and the landlady, with much 
officiousness, insisted on removing her hood, she was quite prepared 
for the screech of surprise which Mrs. Score gave on dropping it, 
exclaiming, “ Why, law bless us, it’s our Catherine ! ” 

“ I’m very ill, and tired, aunt,” said Cat ; “ and would give the 
world for a few hours’ sleep.” 








565 


MRS. SCORE IS DECEIVED 

“A few hours and welcome, my love, and a sack-posset too. 
You do look sadly tired and poorly, sure enough. Ah, Cat, Cat ! 
you great ladies are sad rakes, I do believe. I wager now, that 
with all your balls, and carriages, and fine clothes, you are neither 
so happy nor so well as when you lived with your poor old aunt, 
who used to love you so.” And with these gentle words, and an 
embrace or two, which Mrs. Catherine wondered at, and permitted, 
she was conducted to that very bed which the Count had occupied 
a year previously, and undressed, and laid in it, and affectionately 
tucked up by her aunt, who marvelled at the fineness of her clothes, 
as she removed them piece by piece; and when she saw that in 
Mrs. Catherine’s pocket there was only the sum of three and four- 
pence, said archly, “ There was no need of money, for the Captain 
took care of that.” 

Mrs. Cat did not undeceive her; and deceived Mrs. Score 
certainly was, — for she imagined the well-dressed gentleman who 
led Cat from the carriage was no other than the Count; and, as 
she had heard, from time to time, exaggerated reports of the 
splendour of the establishment which he kept up, she was induced 
to look upon her niece with the very highest respect, and to treat 
her as if she were a fine lady. “ And so she is a fine lady,” Mrs. 
Score had said months ago, when some of these flattering stories 
reached her, and she had overcome her first fury at Catherine’s 
elopement. “ The girl was very cruel to leave me ; but we must 
recollect that she is as good as married to a nobleman, and must all 
forget and forgive, you know.” 

This speech had been made to Doctor Dobbs, who was in the 
habit of taking a pipe and a tankard at the “ Bugle,” and it had 
been roundly reprobated by the worthy divine ; who told Mrs. 
Score that the crime of Catherine was only the more heinous, if 
it had been committed from interested motives ; and protested that, 
were she a princess, he would never speak to her again. Mrs. 
Score thought and pronounced the Doctor’s opinion to be very 
bigoted ; indeed, she was one of those persons who have a marvel- 
lous respect for prosperity, and a corresponding scorn for ill-fortune. 
When, therefore, she returned to the public room, she went 
graciously to the gentleman who had led Mrs. Catherine from the 
carriage, and with a knowing curtsey welcomed him to the “ Bugle ” ; 
told him that his lady would not come to dinner, but bade her say, 
with her best love to his Lordship, that the ride had fatigued her, 
and that she would lie in bed for an hour or two. 

This speech was received with much wonder by his Lord- 
ship; who was, indeed, no other than a Liverpool tailor going 
to London to learn fashions ; but he only smiled, and did not un- 


566 CATHERINE: A STORY 

deceive the landlady, who herself went off, smilingly, to hustle 
about dinner. 

The two or three hours allotted to that meal by the liberal 
coachmasters of those days passed away, and Mr. Coachman, de- 
claring that his horses were now rested enough, and that they had 
twelve miles to ride, put the steeds to, and summoned the passengers. 
Mrs. Score, who had seen with much satisfaction that her niece was 
really ill, and her fever more violent, and hoped to have her for 
many days an inmate in her house, now came forward, and casting 
upon the Liverpool tailor a look of profound but respectful melan- 
choly, said, “ My Lord (for I recollect your Lordship quite well), 
the lady up-stairs is so ill, that it would be a sin to move her : had 
I not better tell coachman to take down your Lordship’s trunks, 
and the lady’s, and make you a bed in the next room ? ” 

Very much to her surprise, this proposition was received with 
a roar of laughter. “ Madam,” said the person addressed, “ I’m 
not a lord, but a tailor and draper ; and as for that young woman, 
before to-day I never set eyes on her.” 

_ “ What ! ” screamed out Mrs. Score. “ Are not you the 

Count 1 ? Do you mean to say that you a’n’t Cat’s h Do you 

mean to say that you didn’t order her bed, and that you won’t pay 
this here little bill'?” And with this she produced a document, 
by which the Count’s lady was made her debtor in a sum of half- 
a-guinea. 

These passionate words excited more and more laughter. “ Pay 
it, my Lord,” said the coachman ; “ and then come along, for time 
presses.” “Our respects to her Ladyship,” said one passenger. “Tell 
her my Lord can’t wait,” said another ; and with much merriment 
one and all quitted the hotel, entered the coach, and rattled off. 

Dumb — pale with terror and rage — bill in hand, Mrs. Score 
had followed the company; but when the coach disappeared, her 
senses returned. Back she flew into the inn, overturning the ostler, 
not deigning to answer Doctor Dobbs (who, from behind soft tobacco- 
fumes, mildly asked the reason of her disturbance), and, bounding 
up-stairs like a fury, she rushed into the room where Catherine lay. 

“Well, madam!” said she, in her highest key, “do you mean 
that you have come into this here house to swindle me 1 Do you 
dare for to come with your airs here, and call yourself a nobleman’s 
lady, and sleep in the best bed, when you’re no better nor a common 
tramper 1 I’ll thank you, ma’am, to get out, ma’am. I’ll have no 
sick paupers in this house, ma’am. You know your way to the 
workhouse, ma’am, and there I’ll trouble you for to go.” And here 
Mrs. Score proceeded quickly to pull off the bedclothes ; and poor 
Cat arose, shivering with fright and fever. 


MRS. CAT TURNED OUT 567 

She had no spirit to answer, as she would have done the day 
before, when an oath from any human being would have brought 
half-a-dozen from her in return ; or a knife, or a plate, or a leg of 
mutton, if such had been to her hand. She had no spirit left for 
such repartees ; but in reply to the above words of Mrs. Score, and 
a great many more of the same kind — which are not necessary for 
our history, but which that lady uttered with inconceivable shrillness 
and volubility, the poor wench could say little,- — only sob and shiver, 
and gather up the clothes again, crying, “Oh, aunt, don’t speak 
unkind to me ! I’m very unhappy, and very ill ! ” 

“ 111, you strumpet ! ill, be hanged ! Ill is as ill does ; and if 
you are ill, it’s only what you merit. Get out ! dress yourself— 
tramp ! Get to the workhouse, and don’t come to cheat me any 
more ! Dress yourself — do you hear ? Satin petticoat, forsooth, 
and lace to her smock ! ” 

Poor, wretched, chattering, burning, shivering Catherine huddled 
on her clothes as well she might : she seemed hardly to know or 
see what she was doing, and did not reply a single word to the 
many that the landlady let fall. Cat tottered down the narrow 
stairs, and through the kitchen, and to the door ; which she caught 
hold of, and paused awhile, and looked into Mrs. Score’s face, as 
for one more chance. “ Get out, you nasty trull ! ” said that lady 
sternly, with arms akimbo ; and poor Catherine, with a most piteous 
scream and outgush of tears, let go of the door-post and staggered 
away into the road. 

“ Why, no — yes — no — it is poor Catherine Hall, as I live ! ” 
said somebody, starting up, shoving aside Mrs. Score very rudely, 
and running into the road, wig off and pipe in hand. It was honest 
Doctor Dobbs ; and the result of his interview with Mrs. Cat was, 
that he gave up for ever smoking his pipe at the “Bugle”; and that 
she lay sick of a fever for some weeks in his house. 

Over this part of Mrs. Cat’s history we shall be as brief as 
possible ; for, to tell the truth, nothing immoral occurred during her 
whole stay at the good Doctor’s house ; and we are not going to 
insult the reader by offering him silly pictures of piety, cheerfulness, 
good sense, and simplicity; which are milk-and-water virtues after 
all, and have no relish with them like a good strong vice, highly 
peppered. Well, to be short : Doctor Dobbs, though a profound 
theologian, was a very simple gentleman ; and before Mrs. Cat had 
been a month in the house, he had learned to look upon her as one 
of the most injured and repentant characters in the world ; and had, 


568 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


with Mrs. Dobbs, resolved many plans for the future welfare of the 
young Magdalen. “ She was but sixteen, my love, recollect,” said 
the Doctor ; “ she was carried off, not by her own wish either. The 
Count swore he would marry her ; and though she did not leave him 
until that monster tried to poison her, yet think what a fine Christian 
spirit the poor girl has shown ! she forgives him as heartily — more 
heartily, I am sure, than I do Mrs. Score for turning her adrift in 
that wicked way.” The reader will perceive some difference in the 
Doctor’s statement and ours, which we assure him is the true one ; 
but the fact is, the honest rector had had his tale from Mrs. Cat, and 
it was not in his nature to doubt, if she had told him a history ten 
times more wonderful. 

The reverend gentleman and his wife then laid their heads 
together ; and, recollecting something of John Hayes’s former attach- 
ment to Mrs. Cat, thought that it might be advantageously renewed, 
should Hayes be still constant. Having very adroitly sounded 
Catherine (so adroitly, indeed, as to ask her “whether she would 
like to marry John Hayes'?”), that young woman had replied, “No. 
She had loved John Hayes — he had been her early, only love ; but 
she was fallen now, and not good enough for him.” And this made 
the Dobbs family admire her more and more, and cast about for 
means to bring the marriage to pass. 

Hayes was away from the village when Mrs. Cat had arrived 
there ; but he did not fail to hear of her illness, and how her aunt 
had deserted her, and the good Doctor taken her in. The worthy 
Doctor himself met Mr. Hayes on the green ; and, telling him that 
some repairs were wanting in his kitchen, begged him to step in and 
examine them. Hayes first said no, plump, and then no, gently; 
and then pished, and then psha’d ; and then, trembling very much, 
went in : and there sat Mrs. Catherine, trembling very much too. 

What passed between them ? If your Ladyship is anxious to 
know, think of that morning when Sir John himself popped the 
question. Could there be anything more stupid than the conversa- 
tion which took place ? Such stuff is not worth repeating : no, not 
when uttered by people in the very genteelest of company ; as for 
the amorous dialogue of a carpenter and an ex-barmaid, it is worse 
still. Suffice it to say, that Mr. Hayes, who had had a year to 
recover from his passion, and had, to all appearances, quelled it, was 
over head and ears again the very moment he saw Mrs. Cat, and had 
all his work to do again. 

Whether the Doctor knew what was going on, I can’t say ; but 
this matter is certain, that every evening Hayes was now in the 
rectory kitchen, or else walking abroad with Mrs. Catherine : and 
whether she ran away with him, or he with her, I shall not make it 



THE INTERRUPTED MARRIAGE 














ft 




MRS. CAT WINS THE TITLE OF WIFE 569 

my business to inquire ; but certainly at the end of three months 
(which must be crowded up into this one little sentence), another 
elopement took place in the village. “ I should have prevented it, 
certainly,” said Doctor Dobbs — whereat his wife smiled ; “ but the 
young people kept the matter a secret from me.” And so he would, 
had he known it ; but though Mrs. Dobbs had made several attempts 
to acquaint him with the precise hour and method of the intended 
elopement, he peremptorily ordered her to hold her tongue. The 
fact is, that the matter had been discussed by the rector’s lady many 
times. “ Young Hayes,” would she say, “ has a pretty little fortune 
and trade of his own ; he is an only son, and may marry as he 
likes ; and, though not specially handsome, generous, or amiable, has 
an undeniable love for Cat (who, you know, must not be particular), 
and the sooner she marries him, I think, the better. They can’t be 
married at our church, you know, and — ” “Well,” said the 
Doctor, “ if they are married elsewhere, I can’t help it, and know 
nothing about it, look you.” And upon this hint the elopement 
took place : which, indeed, was peaceably performed early one Sunday 
morning about a month after ; Mrs. Hall getting behind Mr. Hayes 
on a pillion, and all the children of the parsonage giggling behind the 
window-blinds to see the pair go off. 

During this month Mr. Hayes had caused the banns to be 
published at the town of Worcester; judging rightly that in a 
great town they would cause no such remark as in a solitary 
village, and thither he conducted his lady. 0 ill-starred John 
Hayes ! whither do the dark Fates lead you % 0 foolish Doctor 

Dobbs, to forget that young people ought to honour their parents, 
and to yield to silly Mrs. Dobbs’s ardent propensity for making 
matches ! 

The London Gazette of the 1st April 1706, contains a pro- 
clamation by the Queen for putting into execution an Act of Parlia- 
ment for the encouragement and increase of seamen, and for the 
better and speedier manning of her Majesty’s fleet, which authorises 
all justices to issue warrants to constables, petty constables, head- 
boroughs, and tything-men, to enter and, if need be, to break open 
the doors of any houses where they shall believe deserting seamen 
to be ; and for the further increase and encouragement of the navy, 
to take able-bodied landsmen when seamen fail. This Act, which 
occupies four columns of the Gazette , and another of similar length 
and meaning for pressing men into the army, need not be quoted 
at length here ; but caused a mighty stir throughout the kingdom 
at the time when it was in force. 

As one has seen or heard, after the march of a great army, a 


570 CATHERINE: A STORY 

number of rogues and loose characters bring up the rear ; in like 
manner, at the tail of a great measure of State, follow many roguish 
personal interests, which are protected by the main body. The 
great measure of Reform, for instance, carried along with it much 
private jobbing and swindling — as could be shown were we not 
inclined to deal mildly with the Whigs ; and this Enlistment Act, 
which, in order to maintain the British glories in Flanders, dealt 
most cruelly with the British people in England (it is not the first 
time that a man has been pinched at home to make a fine appear- 
ance abroad), created a great company of rascals and informers 
throughout the land, who lived upon it; or upon extortion from 
those who were subject to it, or not being subject to it were 
frightened into the belief that they were. 

When Mr. Hayes and his lady had gone through the marriage 
ceremony at Worcester, the former, concluding that at such a place 
lodging and food might be procured at a cheaper rate, looked about 
carefully for the meanest public-house in the town, where he might 
deposit his bride. 

In the kitchen of this inn, a party of men were drinking ; and, 
as Mrs. Hayes declined, with a proper sense of her superiority, to 
eat in company with such low fellows, the landlady showed her 
and her husband to an inner apartment, where they might be served 
in private. 

The kitchen party seemed, indeed, not such as a lady would 
choose to join. There was one huge lanky fellow, that looked like 
a soldier, and had a halberd; another was habited in a sailor’s 
costume, with a fascinating patch over one eye ; and a third, who 
seemed the leader of the gang, was a stout man in a sailor’s frock 
and a horseman’s jack-boots, whom one might fancy, if he were 
anything, to be a horse-marine. 

Of one of these worthies, Mrs. Hayes thought she knew the 
figure and voice ; and she found her conjectures were true, when, 
all of a sudden, three people, without, “With your leave,” or “By 
your leave,” burst into the room, into which she and her spouse 
had retired. At their head was no other than her old friend, Mr. 
Peter Brock; he had his sword drawn, and his finger to his lips, 
enjoining silence, as it were, to Mrs. Catherine. He with the patch 
on his eye seized incontinently on Mr. Hayes ; the tall man with 
the halberd kept the door ; two or three heroes supported the one- 
eyed man ; who, with a loud voice, exclaimed, “ Down with your 
arms — no resistance ! you are my prisoner, in the Queen’s name ! ” j 

And here, at this lock, we shall leave the whole company until 
the next chapter ; which may possibly explain what they were. 


CHAPTER V 


CONTAINS MR. BROCK’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY, AND OTHER 
MATTER 

Y OU don’t sure believe these men? ” said Mrs. Hayes, as soon as 
the first alarm caused by the irruption of Mr. Brock and his 
companions had subsided. “ These are no magistrate’s men : 
it is but a trick to rob you of your money, John.” 

“ I will never give up a farthing of it ! ” screamed Hayes. 

“ Yonder fellow,” continued Mrs. Catherine, “ I know, for all 

his drawn sword and fierce looks ; his name is ” 

“Wood, madam, at your service!” said Mr. Brock. “I am 
follower to Mr. Justice Gobble, of this town : a’n’t I, Tim ? ” said 
Mr. Brock to the tall halberdman who was keeping the door. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Tim archly; “we’re all followers of his 
honour Justice Gobble.” 

“ Certainly ! ” said the one-eyed man. 

“ Of course ! ” cried the man in the nightcap. 

“ I suppose, madam, you’re satisfied now ? ” continued Mr. 
Brock, alias Wood. “You can’t deny the testimony of gentlemen 
like these ; and our commission is to apprehend all able-bodied male 
persons who can give no good account of themselves, and enrol them in 
the service of her Majesty. Look at this Mr. Hayes ” (who stood 
trembling in his shoes). “ Can there be a bolder, properer, straighter 
gentleman ? We’ll have him for a grenadier before the day’s over ! ” 
“ Take heart, John — don’t be frightened. Psha ! I tell you 
I know the man,” cried out Mrs. Hayes : “he is only here to 
extort money.” 

“ Oh, for that matter, I do think I recollect the lady. Let me 
see ; where was it ? At Birmingham, I think, — ay, at Birmingham, 

— about the time when they tried to murder Count Gal ” 

“Oh, sir!” here cried Madam Hayes, dropping her voice at once 
from a tone of scorn to one of gentlest entreaty, “ what is it you want 
with my husband ? I know not, indeed, if ever I saw you before. 
For what do you seize him ? How much will you take to release 

him, and let us go? Name the sum ; he is rich, and ” 

“ Rich, Catherine ! ” cried Hayes. “ Rich ! — 0 heavens ! Sir, 


572 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


I have nothing but my hands to support me : I am a poor car- I 
penter, sir, working under my father ! ” 

“ He can give twenty guineas to be free ; I' know he can ! ” 1 
said Mrs. Cat. 

“ I have but a guinea to carry me home,” sighed out Hayes. 

“ But you have twenty at home, John,” said his wife. “ Give 
these brave gentlemen a writing to your mother, and she will pay ; I 
and you will let us free then, gentlemen — won’t you ” 

“ When the money’s paid, yes,” said the leader, Mr. Brock. 

“ Oh, in course,” echoed the tall man with the halberd, j 
“ What’s a thrifling detintion, my dear ? ” continued he, addressing 'j 
Hayes. “We’ll amuse you in your absence, and drink to the 3 
health of your pretty wife here.” 

This promise, to do the halberdier justice, he fulfilled. He j 
called upon the landlady to produce the desired liquor ; and when 
Mr. Hayes flung himself at that lady’s feet, demanding succour J 
from her, and asking whether there was no law in the land — 

“ There’s no law at the ‘ Three Rooks ’ except this ! ” said Mr. j 
Brock in reply, holding up a horse-pistol. To which the hostess, 1 
grinning, assented, and silently went her way. 

After some further solicitations, John Hayes drew out the | 
necessary letter to his father, stating that he was pressed, and ; 
would not be set free under a sum of twenty guineas ; and that it 1 
would be of no use to detain the bearer of the letter, inasmuch as I 
the gentlemen who had possession of him vowed that they would I 
murder him should any harm befall their comrade. As a further 1 
proof of the authenticity of the letter, a token was added : a ring ; 
that Hayes wore, and that his mother had given him. 

The missives were, after some consultation, entrusted to the care J 
of the tall halberdier, who seemed to rank as second in command of 
the forces that marched under Corporal Brock. This gentleman was J 
called indifferently Ensign, Mr., or even Captain Macshane ; his 1 
intimates occasionally in sport called him Nosey, from the prominence 1 
of that feature in his countenance ; or Spindleshins, for the very J 
reason which brought on the first Edward a similar nickname. Mr. 
Macshane then quitted Worcester, mounted on Hayes’s horse; leaving 
all parties at the “ Three Rooks ” not a little anxious for liis return, i 
This was not to be expected until the next morning; and a 
weary nuit de noces did Mr. Hayes pass. Dinner was served, and, 
according to promise, Mr. Brock and his two friends enjoyed the * 
meal along with the bride and bridegroom. Punch followed, and 
this was taken in company ; then came supper, Mr. Brock alone 
partook of this, the other two gentlemen preferring the society of 
their pipes and the landlady in the kitchen. 


573 


MR. BROOK AND HIS PRISONERS 

“It is a sorry entertainment, I confess,” said the ex-corporal, 
“ and a dismal way for a gentleman to spend his bridal night ; but 
somebody must stay with you, my dears : for who knows but you 
might take a fancy to scream out of window, and then there would 
be murder, and the deuce and all to pay. One of us must stay, 
and my friends love a pipe, so you must put up with my company 
until they can relieve guard.” 

The reader will not, of course, expect that three people who 
were to pass the night, however unwillingly, together in an inn- 
room, should sit there dumb and moody, and without any personal 
communication ; on the contrary, Mr. Brock, as an old soldier, 
entertained his prisoners with the utmost courtesy, and did all 
that lay in his power, by the help of liquor and conversation, to 
render their durance tolerable. On the bridegroom his attentions 
were a good deal thrown away : Mr. Hayes consented to drink 
copiously, but could not be made to talk much ; and, in fact, the 
fright of the seizure, the fate hanging over him should his parents 
refuse a ransom, and the tremendous outlay of money which would 
take place should they accede to it, weighed altogether on his mind 
so much as utterly to unman it. 

As for Mrs. Cat, I don’t think she was at all sorry in her 
heart to see the old Corporal : for he had been a friend of old 
times — dear times to her; she had had from him, too, and felt 
for him, not a little kindness ; and there was really a very tender, 
innocent friendship subsisting between this pair of rascals, who 
relished much a night’s conversation together. 

The Corporal, after treating his prisoners to punch in great 
quantities, proposed the amusement of cards : over which Mr. Hayes 
had not been occupied more than an hour, when he found himself 
so excessively sleepy as to be persuaded to fling himself down on 
the bed dressed as he was, and there to snore away until morning. 

Mrs. Catherine had no inclination for sleep ; and the Corporal, 
equally wakeful, plied incessantly the bottle, and held with her a 
great deal of conversation. The sleep, which was equivalent to 
the absence, of John Hayes took all restraint from their talk. She 
explained to Brock the circumstances of her marriage, which we 
have already described; they wondered at the chance which had 
brought them together at the “ Three Rooks ” ; nor did Brock at 
all hesitate to tell her at once that his calling was quite illegal, 
and that his intention was simply to extort money. The worthy 
Corporal had not the slightest shame regarding his own profession, 
and cut many jokes with Mrs. Cat about her late one ; her attempt 
to murder the Count, and her future prospects as a wife. 

And here, having brought him upon the scene again, we may 


574 CATHERINE: A STORY 

as well shortly narrate some of the principal circumstances which 
befell him after his sudden departure from Birmingham ; and which 
he narrated with much candour to Mrs. Catherine. 

He rode the Captain’s horse to Oxford (having exchanged his 
military dress for a civil costume on the road), and at Oxford he 
disposed of “ Ceorge of Denmark,” a great bargain, to one of the 
heads of colleges. As soon as Mr. Brock, who took on himself the 
style and title of Captain Wood, had sufficiently examined the 
curiosities of the University, he proceeded at once to the capital : 
the only place for a gentleman of his fortune and figure. 

Here he read, with a great deal of philosophical indifference, 
in the Daily Post , the Courant , the Observatory the Gazette , 
and the chief journals of those days, which he made a point of 
examining at “ Button’s ” and “Will’s,” an accurate description of 
his person, his clothes, and the horse he rode, and a promise of 
fifty guineas reward to any person who would give an account of 
him (so that he might be captured) to Captain Count Galgenstein 
at Birmingham, to Mr. Murfey at the “ Golden Ball ” in the Savoy, 
or Mr. Bates at the “ Blew Anchor in Pickadilly.” But Captain 
Wood, in an enormous full-bottomed periwig that cost him sixty 
pounds,* with high red heels to his shoes, a silver sword, and a 
gold snuffbox, and a large wound (obtained, he said, at the siege 
of Barcelona), which disfigured much of his countenance, and 
caused him to cover one eye, was in small danger, he thought, of 
being mistaken for Corporal Brock, the deserter of Cutts’s; and 
strutted along the Mall with as grave an air as the very best 
nobleman who appeared there. He was generally, indeed, voted 
to be very good company ; and as his expenses were unlimited (“A 
few convent candlesticks,” my dear, he used to whisper, “melt 
into a vast number of doubloons ”), he commanded as good society 
as he chose to ask for; and it was speedily known as a fact 
throughout town, that Captain Wood, who had served under His 
Majesty Charles III. of Spain, had carried off the diamond petti- 
coat of Our Lady of Compostella, and lived upon the proceeds of 
the fraud. People were good Protestants in those days, and many 
a one longed to have been his partner in the pious plunder. 

All surmises concerning his wealth, Captain Wood, with much 
discretion, encouraged. He contradicted no report, but was quite 
ready to confirm all ; and when two different rumours were positively 
put to him, he used only to laugh, and say, “ My dear sir, I don’t 
make the stories ; but I’m not called upon to deny them ; and I 
give you fair warning, that I shall assent to every one of them ; so 

* In the ingenious contemporary history of Moll Flanders, a periwig is 
mentioned as costing that sum. 


MR. BROCK’S ACCOUNT OF HIS EXPLOITS 575 

you may believe them or not, as you please.” And so he had the 
reputation of being a gentleman, not only wealthy, but discreet. In 
truth, it was almost a pity that worthy Brock had not been a 
gentleman born ; in which case, doubtless, he would have lived and 
died as became his station ; for he spent his money like a gentle- 
man, he loved women like a gentleman, he would fight like a 
gentleman, he gambled and got drunk like a gentleman. What did 
he want else ? Only a matter of six descents, a little money, and an 
estate, to render him the equal of St. John, or Harley. “ Ah, those 
were merry days ! ” would Mr. Brock say, — for he loved, in a good 
old age, to recount the story of his London fashionable campaign ; — 
“ and when I think how near I was to become a great man, and to 
die perhaps a general, I can’t but marvel at the wicked obstinacy of 
my ill-luck.” 

“I will tell you what I did, my dear: I had lodgings in 
Piccadilly, as if I were a lord ; I had two large periwigs, and three 
suits of laced clothes ; I kept a little black dressed out like a Turk ; 
I walked daily in the Mall ; I dined at the politest ordinary in 
Covent Garden; I frequented the best of coffee-houses, and knew 
all the pretty fellows of the town ; I cracked a bottle with Mr. 
Addison, and lent many a piece to Dick Steele (a sad debauched 
rogue, my dear) ; and, above all, I’ll tell you what I did — the 
noblest stroke that sure ever a gentleman performed in my situation. 

“ One day, going into ‘ Will’s,’ I saw a crowd of gentlemen 
gathered together, and heard one of them say, ‘ Captain Wood ! I 
don’t know the man ; but there was a Captain Wood in Southwell’s 
regiment.’ Egad, it was my Lord Peterborough himself who was 
talking about me. So, putting off my hat, I made a most gracious 
conge to my Lord, and said I knew him , and rode behind him at 
Barcelona on our entry into that town. 

“ ‘ No doubt you did, Captain Wood,’ says my Lord, taking 
my hand ; £ and no doubt you know me : for many more know Tom 
Fool, than Tom Fool knows.’ And with this, at which all of us 
laughed, my Lord called for a bottle, and he and I sat down and 
drank it together. 

“ Well, he was in disgrace, as you know, but he grew mighty 
fond of me, and — would you believe it % — nothing would satisfy him 
but presenting me at Court ! Yes, to Her Sacred Majesty the 
Queen, and my Lady Marlborough, who was in high feather. Ay, 
truly, the sentinels on duty used to salute me as if I were Corpora] 
John himself ! I was on the high road to fortune. Charley 
Mordaunt used to call me Jack, and drink canary at my chambers ; 
I used to make one at my Lord Treasurer’s levee ; I had even got 
Mr. Army-Secretary Walpole to take a hundred guineas as a com- 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


576 

pliment : and he had promised me a majority : when bad luck 
turned, and all my fine hopes were overthrown in a twinkling. 

“You see, my dear, that after we had left that gaby, Galgenstein, 
— ha, ha, — with a gag in his mouth, and twopence-halfpenny in his 
pocket, the honest Count was in the sorriest plight in the world ; 
owing money here and there to tradesmen, a cool thousand to the 
Warwickshire Squire : and all this on eighty pounds a year ! Well, 
for a little time the tradesmen held their hands ; while the jolly 
Count moved heaven and earth to catch hold of his dear Corporal 
and his dear money-bags over again, and placarded every town from 
London to Liverpool with descriptions of my pretty person. The 
bird was flown, however, — the money clean gone, — and when there 
was no hope of regaining it, what did the creditors do but clap my 
gay gentleman into Shrewsbury gaol : where I wish he had rotted, for 
my part. 

“ But no such luck for honest Peter Brock, or Captain Wood, 
as he was in those days. One blessed Monday I went to wait on 
Mr. Secretary, and he squeezed my hand and whispered to me that 
I was to be Major of a regiment in Virginia — the very thing : for 
you see, my dear, I didn’t care about joining my Lord Duke in 
Flanders; being pretty well known to the army there. The 
Secretary squeezed my hand (it had a fifty-pound bill in it) and 
wished me joy, and called me Major, and bowed me out of his 
closet into the anteroom ; and, as gay as may be, I went off to the 
‘ Tilt-yard Coffee-house ’ in Whitehall, which is much frequented by 
gentlemen of our profession', where I bragged not a little of my 
good luck. 

“ Amongst the company were several of my acquaintance, and 
amongst them a gentleman I did not much care to see, look you ! 
I saw a uniform that I knew — red and yellow facings — Cutts’s, my 
dear ; and the wearer of this was no other than his Excellency 
Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian, whom we all know of! 

“He stared me full in the face, right into my eye (t’other one 
was patched, you know) ; and after standing stock-still with his 
mouth open, gave a step back, and then a step forward, and then 
screeched out, c It’s Brock ! ’ 

“ ‘ I beg your pardon, sir,’ says I ; ‘did you speak to me V 

“ ‘ I’ll swear it’s Brock,’ cries Gal, as soon as he hears my voice, 
and laid hold of my cuff (a pretty bit of Mechlin as ever you saw, 
by the way). 

“ ‘ Sirrah ! ’ says I, drawing it back, and giving my Lord a 
little touch of the fist (just at the last button of the waistcoat, my 
dear, — r a rare place if you wish to prevent a man from speaking 
too much : it sent him reeling to the other end of the room). 



CAPTAIN BROCK APPEARS AT COURT WITH MY LORD PETERBOROUGH 











































































































































































577 


AN AWKWARD RENCONTRE 

l Ruffian ! ’ says I. * Dog ! ’ says I. ‘ Insolent puppy and cox- 
comb ! what do you mean by laying your hand on me 'l ’ 

“ ‘ Faith, Major, you giv him his billyful, ’ roared out a long 
Irish unattached ensign, that I had treated with many a glass of 
Nantz at the tavern. And so, indeed, I had ; for the wretch 
could not speak for some minutes, and all the officers stood 
laughing at him as he writhed and wriggled hideously. 

“ £ Gentlemen, this is a monstrous scandal,’ says one officer. 

‘ Men of rank and honour at fists like a parcel of carters ! ’ 

“ ‘ Men of honour ! ’ says the Count, who had fetched up his 
breath by this time. (I made for the door, but Macshane held me 
and said, ‘Major, you are not going to shirk him, sure 1 ?’ Where- 
upon I gripped his hand and vowed I would have the dog’s life.) 

“ ‘ Men of honour ! ’ says the Count. 1 1 tell you the man is 
a deserter, a thief, and a swindler ! He was my corporal, and ran 
away with a thou ’ 

“ ‘ Dog, you lie ! ’ I roared out, and made another cut at him 
with my cane ; but the gentlemen rushed between us. 

“‘0 bluthanowns ! ’ says honest Macshane, ‘ the lying scounthrel 
this fellow is ! Gentlemen, I swear be me honour that Captain 
Wood was wounded at Barcelona; and that I saw him there; and 
that he and I ran away together at the battle of Almanza, and bad 
luck to us.’ 

“You see, my dear, that these Irish have the strongest imagi- 
nations in the world ; and that I had actually persuaded poor Mac 
that he and I were friends in Spain. Everybody knew Mac, who 
was a character in his way, and believed him. 

“ ‘ Strike a gentleman ! ’ says I. ‘ I’ll have your blood, I will.’ 

“ ‘ This instant,’ says the Count, who was boiling with fury ; 
‘ and where you like.’ 

“ ‘ Montague House,’ says I. ‘ Good,’ says he. And off he 
went. In good time too, for the constables came in at the thought 
of such a disturbance, and wanted to take us in charge. 

“ But the gentlemen present, being military men, would not 
hear of this. Out came Mac’s rapier, and that of half-a-dozen 
others ; and the constables were then told to do their duty if they 
liked, or to take a crown-piece, and leave us to ourselves. Off they 
went; and presently, in a couple of coaches, the Count and his 
friends, I and mine, drove off to the fields behind Montague House. 
Oh that vile coffee-house ! why did I enter it ? 

“We came to the ground. Honest Macshane was my second, 
and much disappointed because the second on the other side would 
not make a fight of it, and exchange a few passes with him ; but he 
was an old major, a cool old hand, as brave as steel, and no fool, 
4 2 o 


578 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


Well, the swords are measured, Galgenstein strips off his doublet, 
and I my handsome cut-velvet in like fashion. Galgenstein flings 
off his hat, and I handed mine over — the lace on it cost me 
twenty pounds. I longed to be at him, for — curse him ! — I hate 
him, and know that he has no chance with me at sword’s-play. 

“ ‘ You’ll not fight in that periwig, sure?’ says Macshane. ‘ Of 
course not,’ says I, and took it off. 

“ May all barbers be roasted in flames ; may all periwigs, bob- 
wigs, scratchwigs, and Ramillies cocks, frizzle in purgatory from 
this day forth to the end of time ! Mine was the ruin of me : 
what might I not have been now but for that wig ! 

“I gave it over to Ensign Macshane, and with it went what I had 
quite forgotten, the large patch which I wore over one eye, which 
popped out fierce, staring, and lively as was ever any eye in the world. 

“ ‘ Come on ! ’ says I, and made a lunge at my Count ; but he 
sprang back (the dog was as active as a hare, and knew, from old 
times, that I was his master with the small-sword), and his second, 
wondering, struck up my blade. 

‘“I will not fight that man,’ says he, looking mighty pale. ‘ I 
swear upon my honour that his name is Peter Brock : he was for 
two years my corporal, and deserted, running away with a thousand 
pounds of my moneys. Look at the fellow ! What is the matter 
with his eye 1 why did he wear a patch over it 1 But stop ! ’ says 
he. * I have more proof. Hand me my pocket-book.’ And from it, 
sure enough, he produced the infernal proclamation announcing my 
desertion ! ‘ See if the fellow has a scar across his left ear ’ (and I 

can’t say, my dear, but what I have : it was done by a cursed 
Dutchman at the Boyne). ‘ Tell me if he has not got C.R. in blue 
upon his right arm’ (and there it is sure enough). ‘Yonder swagger- 
ing Irishman may be his accomplice for what I know ; but I will have 
no dealings with Mr. Brock, save with a constable for a second.’ 

“ £ This is an odd story, Captain Wood,’ said the old Major who 
acted for the Count. 

£££ A scounthrelly falsehood regarding me and my friend !’] 
shouted out Mr. Macshane : £ and the Count shall answer for it.’ 

££ £ Stop, stop ! ’ says the Major. ‘ Captain Wood is too gallant 
a gentleman, I am sure, not to satisfy the Count ; and will show us 
that he has no such mark on his arm as only private soldiers put 
there.’ 

£££ Captain Wood,’ says I, ‘will do no such thing, Major. I’ll 
fight that scoundrel Galgenstein, or you, or any of you, like a man 
of honour ; but I won’t submit to be searched like a thief! ’ 

“ ‘ No, in coorse,’ said Macshane. 

“ ‘ I must take my man off the ground,’ says the Major. 


CAPTAIN WOOD SCENTS MISCHIEF 579 

“ ‘Well, take him, sir,’ says I, in a rage ; ‘ and just let me have 
the pleasure of telling him that he’s a coward and a liar ; and that 
my lodgings are in Piccadilly, where, if ever he finds courage to 
meet me, he may hear of me ! ’ 

“ ‘ Faugh ! I slipit on ye all,’ cries my gallant ally Macshane. 
And sure enough he kept his word, or all but — suiting the action 
to it at any rate. 

“And so we gathered up our clothes, and went back in our 
separate coaches, and no blood spilt. 

“ ‘ And is it thrue now,’ said Mr. Macshane, when we were 
alone — ‘ is it thrue now, all these divvies have been saying 'i ’ 

“ * Ensign,’ says I, ‘ you’re a man of the world 1 ’ 

“ ‘ ’Deed and I am, and insign these twenty-two years.’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps you’d like a few pieces 1 ’ says I. 

“ ‘ Faith and I should ; for, to tell you the secred thrut, I’ve 
not tasted mate these four days.’ 

“‘Well then, Ensign, it is true,’ says I; ‘and as for meat, 
you shall have some at the first cook-shop.’ I bade the coach stop 
until he bought a plateful, which he ate in the carriage, for my 
time was precious. I just told him the whole story : at which he 
laughed, and swore that it was the best piece of generalship he 
ever heard on. When his belly was full, I took out a couple of 
guineas and gave them to him. Mr. Macshane began to cry at this, 
and kissed me, and swore he never would desert me : as, indeed, 
my dear, I don’t think he will ; for we have been the best of friends 
ever since, and he’s the only man I ever could trust, I think. 

“ I don’t know what put it into my head, but I had a scent of 
some mischief in the wind ; so stopped the coach a little before I 
got home, and, turning into a tavern, begged Macshane to go before 
me to my lodging, and see if the coast was clear : which he did ; 
and came back to me as pale as death, saying that the house was 
full of constables. The cursed quarrel at the Tilt-yard had, I 
suppose, set the beaks upon me ; and a pretty sweep they made of 
it. All, my dear ! five hundred pounds in money, five suits of 
laced clothes, three periwigs, besides laced shirts, swords, canes, 
and snuffboxes ; and all to go back to that scoundrel Count. 

“ It was all over with me, I saw — no more being a gentleman 
for me ; and if I remained to be caught, only a choice between 
Tyburn and a file of grenadiers. My love, under such circumstances, 
a gentleman can’t be particular, and must be prompt ; the livery- 
stable was hard by where I used to hire my coach to go to Court,— 
ha ! ha ! — and was known as a man of substance. Thither I went 
immediately. ‘Mr. Warmmash,’ says I, ‘my gallant friend here 
and I have a mind for a ride and a supper at Twickenham, so you 


580 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


must lend us a pair of your best horses.’ Which he did in a 
twinkling, and off we rode. 

“We did not go into the Park, but turned off and cantered 
smartly up towards Kilburn ; and, when we got into the country, 
galloped as if the devil were at our heels. Bless you, my love, it 
was all done in a minute : and the Ensign and I found ourselves 
regular knights of the road, before we knew where we were almost. 
Only think of our finding you and your new husband at the ‘ Three 
Rooks ’ ! There’s not a greater fence than the landlady in all the 
country. It was she that put us on seizing your husband, and 
introduced us to the other two gentlemen, whose names I don’t 
know any more than the dead.” 

“ And what became of the horses ? ” said Mrs. Catherine to Mr. 
Brock, when his tale was finished. 

“ Rips, madam,” said he ; “ mere rips. We sold them at Stour- 
bridge fair, and got but thirteen guineas for the two.” 

“And — and — the Count, Max; where is he, Brock 1 ?” sighed she. 

“Whew!” whistled Mr. Brock. “What, hankering after him 
still 1 My dear, he is off to Flanders with his regiment ; and, I 
make no doubt, there have been twenty Countesses of Galgenstein 
since your time.” 

“I don’t believe any such thing, sir,” said Mrs. Catherine, 
starting up very angrily. 

“ If you did, I suppose you’d laudanum him ; wouldn’t you ? ” 

“Leave the room, fellow,” said the lady. But she recollected 
herself speedily again ; and, clasping her hands, and looking very 
wretched at Brock, at the ceiling, at the floor, at her husband 
(from whom she violently turned away her head), she began to cry 
piteously : to which tears the Corporal set up a gentle accompani- 
ment of whistling, as they trickled one after another down her nose. 

I don’t think they were tears of repentance ; but of regret for 
the time when she had her first love, and her fine clothes, and her 
white hat and blue feather. Of the two, the Corporal’s whistle was 
much more innocent than the girl’s sobbing : he was a rogue ; but a 
good-natured old fellow when his humour was not crossed. Surely 
our novel-writers make a great mistake in divesting their rascals of 
all gentle human qualities : they have such — and the only sad point 
to think of is, in all private concerns of life, abstract feelings, and 
dealings with friends, and so on, how dreadfully like a rascal is to an 
honest man. The man who murdered the Italian boy, set him first 
to play with his children whom he loved, and who doubtless deplored 
his loss. 


CHAPTER VI 

ADVENTURES OF THE AMBASSADOR, MR. MACSHANE 

I F we had not been obliged to follow history in all respects, it is 
probable that we should have left out the last adventure of 
Mrs. Catherine and her husband, at the inn at Worcester, alto- 
gether ; for, in truth, very little came of it, and it is not very 
romantic or striking. But we are bound to stick closely, above all, 
by the truth — the truth, though it be not particularly pleasant 
to read of or to tell. As anybody may read in the “Newgate 
Calendar,” Mr. and Mrs. Hayes were taken at an inn at Worcester ; 
were confined there; were swindled by persons who pretended to 
impress the bridegroom for military service. What is one to do 
after that'? Had we been writing novels instead of authentic histories, 
we might have carried them anywhere else we chose : and we had a 
great mind to make Hayes philosophising with Bolingbroke, like a 
certain Devereux ; and Mrs. Catherine maitresse en titre to Mr. 
Alexander Pope, Doctor Sacheverel, Sir John Reade the oculist, 
Dean Swift, or Marshal Tallard ; as the very commonest romancer 
would under such circumstances. But alas and alas ! truth must 
be spoken, whatever else is in the wind ; and the excellent “ Newgate 
Calendar,” which contains the biographies and thanatographies of 
Hayes and his wife, does not say a word of their connections with 
any of the leading literary or military heroes of the time of Her 
Majesty Queen Anne. The “ Calendar ” says, in so many words, 
that Hayes was obliged to send to his father in Warwickshire for 
money to get him out of the scrape, and that the old gentleman 
came down to his aid. By this truth must we stick ; and not for 
the sake of the most brilliant episode, — no, not for a bribe of twenty 
extra guineas per sheet, would we depart from it. 

Mr. Brock’s account of his adventure in London has given the 
reader some short notice of his friend, Mr. Macshane. Neither the 
wits nor the principles of that worthy Ensign were particularly firm : 
for drink, poverty, and a crack on the skull at the battle of Steenkirk 
had served to injure the former ; and the Ensign was not in his best 
days possessed of any share of the latter. He had really, at one 
period, held such a rank in the army, but pawned his half-pay for 


582 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


drink and play ; and for many years past had lived, one of the hundred 
thousand miracles of our city, upon nothing that anybody knew of, 
or of which he himself could give any account. Who has not a 
catalogue of these men in his list 1 who can tell whence comes the 
occasional clean shirt, who supplies the continual means of drunken- 
ness, who wards off the daily-impending starvation 1 Their life is a 
wonder from day to day : their breakfast a wonder ; their dinner a 
miracle ; their bed an interposition of Providence. If you and I,, 
my dear sir, want a shilling to-morrow, who will give it us ? Will 
our butchers give us mutton-chops ? will our laundresses clothe us 
in clean linen 1 — not a bone or a rag. Standing as we do (may it 
be ever so) somewhat removed from want,* is there one of us who 
does not shudder at the thought of descending into the lists to 
combat with it, and expect anything but to be utterly crushed in 
the encounter 1 ? 

Not a bit of it, my dear sir. It takes much more than you 
think for to starve a man. Starvation is very little when you are 
used to it. Some people I know even, who live on it quite com- 
fortably, and make their daily bread by it. It had been our friend 
Macshane’s sole profession for many years ; and he did not fail to. 
draw from it such a livelihood as was sufficient, and perhaps too 
good, for him. He managed to dine upon it a certain or rather 
uncertain number of days in the week, to sleep somewhere, and to 
get drunk at least three hundred times a year. He was known to 
one or two noblemen who occasionally helped him with a few pieces, 
and whom he helped in tufn — never mind how. He had other 
acquaintances whom he pestered undauntedly ; and from whom he 
occasionally extracted a dinner, or a crown, or mayhap, by mistake, 
a gold-headed cane, which found its way to the pawnbroker’s. When 
flush of cash, he would appear at the coffee-house; when low in 
funds, the deuce knows into what mystic caves and dens he slunk 
for food and lodging. He was perfectly ready with his sword, and 
when sober, or better still, a very little tipsy, was a complete master 
of it ; in the art of boasting and lying he had hardly any equals ; 
in shoes he stood six feet five inches ; and here is his complete 
signalement. It was a fact that he had been in Spain as a volun- 
teer, where he had shown some gallantry, had had a brain-fever, 
and was sent home to starve as before. 

Mr. Macshane had, however, like Mr. Conrad, the Corsair, one 
virtue in the midst of a thousand crimes, — he was faithful to his 
employer for the time being : and a story is told of him, which may 
or may not be to his credit, viz., that being hired on one occasion 

* The author, it must be remembered, has his lodgings and food provided 
for him by the government of his country. 


ENSIGN MACSHANE’S MISSION 583 

by a certain lord to inflict a punishment upon a roturier who had 
crossed his lordship in his amours, he, Macshane, did actually 
refuse from the person to be belaboured, and who entreated his 
forbearance, a larger sum of money than the nobleman gave him 
for the beating ; which he performed punctually, as bound in honour 
and friendship. This tale would the Ensign himself relate, with 
much self-satisfaction; and when, after the sudden flight from 
London, he and Brock took to their roving occupation, he cheerfully 
submitted to the latter as his commanding officer, called him always 
Major, and, bating blunders and drunkenness, was perfectly true to 
his leader. He had a notion — and, indeed, I don’t know that it 
was a wrong one — that his profession was now, as before, strictly 
military, and according to the rules of honour. Robbing he called 
plundering the enemy; and hanging was, in his idea, a dastardly 
and cruel advantage that the latter took, and that called for the 
sternest reprisals. 

The other gentlemen concerned were strangers to Mr. Brock, 
who felt little inclined to trust either of them upon such a message, 
or with such a large sum to bring back. They had, strange to say, 
a similar mistrust on their side; but Mr. Brock lugged out five 
guineas, which he placed in the landlady’s hand as security for his 
comrade’s return ; and Ensign Macshane, being mounted on poor 
Hayes’s own horse, set off to visit the parents of that unhappy 
young man. It was a gallant sight to behold our thieves’ ambas- 
sador, in a faded sky-blue suit with orange facings, in a pair of 
huge jack-boots unconscious of blacking, with a mighty basket-hilted 
sword by his side, and a little shabby beaver cocked over a large 
tow-periwig, ride out from the inn of the “Three Rooks” on his 
mission to Hayes’s paternal village. 

It was eighteen miles distant from Worcester; but Mr. Mac- 
shane performed the distance in safety, and in sobriety moreover 
(for such had been his instructions), and had no difficulty in dis- 
covering the house of old Hayes : towards which, indeed, John’s 
horse trotted incontinently. Mrs. Hayes, who was knitting at the 
house-door, was not a little surprised at the appearance of the well- 
known grey gelding, and of the stranger mounted upon it. 

Flinging himself off the steed with much agility, Mr. Macshane, 
as soon as his feet reached the ground, brought them rapidly 
together, in order to make a profound and elegant bow to Mrs. 
Hayes; and slapping his greasy beaver against his heart, and 
poking his periwig almost into the nose of the old lady, demanded 
whether he had the “shooprame honour of adthressing Misthriss 
Heesl” 

Having been answered in the affirmative, he then proceeded to 


584 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


ask whether there was a blackguard boy in the house who would 
take “ the horse to the steeble ; ” whether “ he could have a dthrink 
of small-beer or buthermilk, being, faith, uncommon dthry ; ” and 
whether, finally, “ he could be feevored with a few minutes’ private 
conversation with her and Mr. Hees, on a matther of considerable 
impartance.” All these preliminaries were to be complied with , 
before Mr. Macshane would enter at all into the subject of his 
visit. The horse and man were cared for ; Mr. Hayes was called 
in ; and not a little anxious did Mrs. Hayes grow, in the meanwhile, 
with regard to the fate of her darling son. “ Where is he ? How 
is he ? Is he dead 1 ” said the old lady. “ Oh yes, I’m sure he’s 
dead ! ” 

“ Indeed, madam, and you’re misteeken intirely : the young man 
is perfectly well in health.” 

“ Oh, praised be Heaven ! ” 

“ But mighty cast down in sperrits. To misfortunes, madam, 
look you, the best of us are subject ; and a trifling one has fell upon 
your son.” 

And herewith Mr. Macshane produced a letter in the hand- 
writing of young Hayes, of which we have had the good luck to 
procure a copy. It ran thus : — 

“Honored Father and Mother, — The bearer of this is 
a kind gentleman, who has left me in a great deal of trouble. 
Yesterday, at this towne, I fell in with some gentlemen of the 
queene’s servas ; after drinking with whom, I accepted her Majesty’s 
mony to enliste. Repenting thereof, I did endeavour to escape; 
and, in so doing, had the misfortune to strike my superior officer, 
whereby I made myself liable to Death, according to the rules of 
warr. If, however, I pay twenty ginnys, all will be wel. You 
must give the same to the barer, els I shall be shott without fail on 
Tewsday morning. And so no more from your loving son, 

“John Hayes. 

“ From my prison at Bristol, 
this unhappy Monday. ” 

When Mrs. Hayes read this pathetic missive, its success with 
her was complete, and she was for going immediately to the cup- 
board, and producing the money necessary for her darling son’s 
release. But the carpenter Hayes was much more suspicious. “I 
don’t know you, sir,” said he to the ambassador. 

“ Do you doubt my honour, sir 1 ” said the Ensign, very 
fiercely. 

“Why, sir,” replied Mr. Hayes, “I know little about it one 


585 


A DEMAND FOR RANSOM 

way or other, but shall take it for granted, if you will explain a 
little more of this business.” 

“I sildom condescind to explean,” said Mr. Macshane, “for 
it’s not the custom in my rank ; but I’ll explean anything in 
reason.” 

“ Pray, will you tell me in what regiment my son is enlisted 1 ?” 

“ In coorse. In Colonel Wood’s fut, my dear ; and a gallant 
corps it is as any in the army.” 

“ And you left him ? ” 

“ On me soul, only three hours ago, having rid like a horse 
jockey ever since ; as in the sacred cause of humanity, curse me, 
every man should.” 

As Hayes’s house was seventy miles from Bristol, the old 
gentleman thought this was marvellous quick riding, and so cut the 
conversation short. “You have said quite enough, sir,” said he, 
“to show me there is some roguery in the matter, and that the 
whole story is false from beginning to end.” 

At this abrupt charge the Ensign looked somewhat puzzled, and 
then spoke with much gravity. “Roguery,” said he, “Misthur 
Hees, is a sthrong term ; and which, in consideration of my friend- 
ship for your family, I shall pass over. You doubt your son’s 
honour, as there wrote by him in black and white ? ” 

“ You have forced him to write,” said Mr. Hayes. 

“ The sly old diwle’s right,” muttered Mr. Macshane, aside. 
“ Well, sir, to make a clean breast of it, he has been forced to write 
it. The story about the enlistment is a pretty fib, if you will, from 
beginning to end. And what then, my dear ? Do you think your 
son’s any better off for that *1 ” 

“ Oh, where is he ? ” screamed Mrs. Hayes, plumping down on 
her knees. “We will give him the money, won’t we, John ?” 

“ I know you will, madam, when I tell you where he is. He is 
in the hands of some gentlemen of my acquaintance, who are at war 
with the present government, and no more care about cutting a 
man’s throat than they do a chicken’s. He is a prisoner, madam, 
of our sword and spear. If you choose to ransom him, well and 
good ; if not, peace be with him ! for never more shall you see 
him ! ” 

“ And how do I know you won’t come back to-morrow for more 
money 1 ” asked Mr. Hayes. 

“ Sir, you have my honour ; and I’d as lieve break my neck 
as my word,” said Mr. Macshane gravely. “Twenty guineas is 
the bargain. Take ten minutes to talk of it — take it then, or 
leave it; it’s all the same to me, my dear.” And it must be said 
of our friend the Ensign, that he meant every word he said, and 


586 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


that he considered the embassy on which he had come as perfectly 
honourable and regular. 

“And pray, what prevents us,” said Mr. Hayes, starting up 
in a rage, “from taking hold of you, as a surety for him]'” 

“You wouldn’t fire on a flag of truce, would ye, you dishonour- 
able ould civilian]” replied Mr. Macshane. “Besides,” says he, j 
“ there’s more reasons to prevent you : the first is this,” pointing j 
to his sword ; “ here are two more ” — and these were pistols ; “ and I 
the last and the best of all is, that you might hang me and dthraw j 
me and quarther me, and yet never see so much as the tip of your j 
son’s nose again. Look you, sir, we run mighty risks in our pro- j 
fession — it’s not all play, I can tell you. We’re obliged to be J 
punctual, too, or it’s all up with the thrade. If I promise that ] 
your son will die as sure as fate to-morrow morning, unless I return 1 
home safe, our people must keep my promise ; or else what chance I 
is there for me] You would be down upon me in a moment with I 
a posse of constables, and have me swinging before Warwick gaol. 
Pooh, my dear ! you never would sacrifice a darling boy like John j 
Hayes, let alone his lady, for the sake of my long carcass. One or j 
two of our gentlemen have been taken that way already, because 1 
parents and guardians would not believe them.” 

“ And what became of the poor children ? ” said Mrs. Hayes, I 
who began to perceive the gist of the argument, and to grow dread- 1 
fully frightened. 

“Don’t let’s talk of them, ma’am: humanity shudthers at the 1 
thought ! ” And herewith Mr. Macshane drew his finger across his 1 
throat in such a dreadful way as to make the two parents tremble. I 
“ It’s the way of war, madam, look you. The service I have the 1 
honour to belong to is not paid by the Queen ; and so we’re obliged to I 
make our prisoners pay, according to established military practice.” ] 

No lawyer could have argued his case better than Mr. Macshane 1 
so far; and he completely succeeded in convincing Mr. and Mrs. i 
Hayes of the necessity of ransoming their son. Promising that the 
young man should be restored to them next morning, along with 
his beautiful lady, he courteously took leave of the old couple, and 
made the best of his way back to Worcester again. The elder 
Hayes wondered who the lady could be of whom the ambassador 
had spoken, for their son’s elopement was altogether unknown to 
them; but anger or doubt about this subject was overwhelmed 
by their fears for their darling John’s safety. Away rode the 
gallant Macshane with the money necessary to effect this ; and it 
must be mentioned, as highly to his credit, that he never once 
thought of appropriating the sum to himself, or of deserting his 
comrades in any way. 


AN OBNOXIOUS GUEST 587 

His ride from Worcester had been a long one. He had left 
that city at noon, but before his return thither the sun had gone 
down ; and the landscape, which had been dressed like a prodigal, 
in purple and gold, now appeared like a Quaker, in dusky grey ; 
and the trees by the roadside grew black as undertakers or physi- 
cians, and, bending their solemn heads to each other, whispered 
ominously among themselves ; and the mists hung on the common ; 
and the cottage lights went out one by one ; and the earth and 
heaven grew black, but for some twinkling useless stars, which 
freckled the ebon countenance of the latter ; and the air grew 
colder ; and about two o’clock the moon appeared, a dismal pale- 
faced rake, walking solitary through the deserted sky ; and about 
four, mayhap, the Dawn (wretched ’prentice-boy !) opened in the 
east the shutters of the Day : — in other words, more than a dozen 
hours had passed. Corporal Brock had been relieved by Mr. Red- 
cap, the latter by Mr. Sicklop, the one-eyed gentleman ; Mrs. John 
Hayes, in spite of her sorrows and bashfulness, had followed the 
example of her husband, and fallen asleep by his side — slept for 
many hours — and awakened still under the guardianship of Mr. 
Brock’s troop ; and all parties began anxiously to expect the return 
of the ambassador, Mr. Macshane. 

That officer, who had performed the first part of his journey 
with such distinguished prudence and success, found the night, on 
his journey homewards, was growing mighty cold and dark ; and 
as he was thirsty and hungry, had money in his purse, and saw 
no cause to hurry, he determined to take refuge at an alehouse for 
the night, and to make for Worcester by dawn the next morning. 
He accordingly alighted at the first inn on his road, consigned his 
horse to the stable, and, entering the kitchen, called for the best 
liquor in the house. 

A small company was assembled at the inn, among whom Mr. 
Macshane took his place with a great deal of dignity ; and, having 
a considerable sum of money in his pocket, felt a mighty contempt 
for his society, and soon let them know the contempt he felt for 
them. After a third flagon of ale, he discovered that the liquor 
was sour, and emptied, with much spluttering and grimaces, the 
remainder of the beer into the fire. This process so offended the 
parson of the parish (who in those good old times did not disdain 
to take the post of honour in the chimney-nook), that he left his 
corner, looking wrathfully at the offender ; who without any more 
ado instantly occupied it. It was a fine thing to hear the jingling 
of the twenty pieces in his pocket, the oaths which he distributed 
between the landlord, the guests, and the liquor — to remark the 
sprawl of his mighty jack-boots, before the sweep of which the 


588 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


timid guests edged farther and farther away; and the languishing j 
leers which he cast on the landlady, as with widespread arms he \ 
attempted to seize upon her. 

When the ostler had done his duties in the stable, he entered 
the inn, and whispered the landlord that “ the stranger was riding j 
John Hayes’s horse : ” of which fact the host soon convinced him- J 
self, and did not fail to have some suspicions of his guest. Had j 
he not thought that times were unquiet, horses might be sold, and | 
one man’s money was as good as another’s, he probably would have 1 
arrested the Ensign immediately, and so lost all the profit of the 1 
score which the latter was causing every moment to be enlarged. 

In a couple of hours, with that happy facility which one may J 
have often remarked in men of the gallant Ensign’s nation, he had j 
managed to disgust every one of the landlord’s other guests, and j 
scare them from the kitchen. Frightened by his addresses, the fl 
landlady too had taken flight ; and the host was the only person I 
left in the apartment ; who there stayed for interest’s sake merely, 1 
and listened moodily to his tipsy guest’s conversation. In an hour | 
more, the whole house was awakened by a violent noise of howling, 1 
curses, and pots clattering to and fro. Forth issued Mrs. Landlady 9 
in her night-gear, out came John Ostler with his pitchfork, down- : 
stairs tumbled Mrs. Cook and one or two guests, and found the 
landlord and ensign on the kitchen floor — the wig of the latter ^ 
lying, much singed and emitting strange odours, in the fireplace, I 
his face hideously distorted, and a great quantity of his natural 1 
hair in the partial occupation of the landlord ; who had drawn it I 
and the head down towards him, in order that he might have the 1 
benefit of pummelling the latter more at his ease. In revenge, the 1 
landlord was undermost, and the Ensign’s arms were working up J 
and down his face and body like the flaps of a paddle-wheel : the I 
man of war had clearly the best of it. 

The combatants were separated as soon as possible; but as I 
soon as the excitement of the fight was over, Ensign Macshane was I 
found to have no further powers of speech, sense, or locomotion, and fl 
was carried by his late antagonist to bed. His sword and pistols, 1 
which had been placed at his side at the commencement of the I 
evening, were carefully put by, and his pocket visited. Twenty 9 
guineas in gold, a large knife — used, probably, for the cutting of 
bread and cheese — some crumbs of those delicacies and a paper of ( 
tobacco found in the breeches-pockets, and in the bosom of the v. 
sky-blue coat the leg of a cold fowl and half of a raw onion, con- 
stituted his whole property. 

These articles were not very supicious ; but the beating which 
the landlord had received tended greatly to confirm his own and 


ENSIGN MACSHANE IS ARRESTED 589 

his wife’s doubts about their guest ; and it was determined to send 
off in the early morning to Mr. Hayes, informing him how a person 
had lain at their inn who had ridden thither mounted upon young 
Hayes’s horse. Off set John Ostler at earliest dawn; but on his 
way he woke up Mr. Justice’s clerk, and communicated his suspicions 
to him ; and Mr. Clerk consulted with the village baker, who was 
always up early ; and the clerk, the baker, the butcher with his 
cleaver, and two gentlemen who were going to work, all adjourned 
to the inn. 

Accordingly, when Ensign Macshane was in a truckle-bed, 
plunged in that deep slumber which only innocence and drunken- 
ness enjoy in this world, and charming the ears of morn by the 
regular and melodious music of his nose, a vile plot was laid against 
him ; and when about seven of the clock he woke, he found, on 
sitting up in his bed* three gentlemen on each side of it, armed, and 
looking ominous. One held a constable’s staff, and Mbeit unpro- 
vided with a warrant, would take upon himself the responsibility 
of seizing Mr. Macshane, and of carrying him before his worship at 
the hall. 

“ Taranouns, man ! ” said the Ensign, springing up in bed, and 
abruptly breaking off a loud sonorous yawn, with which he had 
opened the business of the day, “you won’t deteen a gentleman 
who’s on life and death ? I give ye my word, an affair of honour.” 

“ How came you by that there horse ? ” said the baker. 

“ How came you by these here fifteen guineas 'l ” said the land- 
lord, in whose hands, by some process, five of the gold pieces had 
disappeared. 

“ What is this here idolatrous string of beads 1 ” said the clerk. 

Mr. Macshane, the fact is, was a Catholic, but did not care to 
own it : for in those days his religion was not popular. “ Baids ? 
Holy Mother of saints ! give me back them baids,” said Mr. 
Macshane, clasping his hands. “ They were blest, I tell you, by 

his holiness the po psha ! I mane they belong to a darling little 

daughter I had that’s in heaven now : and as for the money and the 
horse, I should like to know how a gentleman is to travel in this 
counthry without them.” 

“ Why, you see, he may travel in the country to git ’em,” here 
shrewdly remarked the constable ; “ and it’s our belief that neither 
horse nor money is honestly come by. If his worship is satisfied, 
why so, in course, shall we be; but there is highwaymen abroad, 
look you ; and, to our notion, you have very much the cut of one.” 

Further remonstrances or threats on the part of Mr. Macshane 
were useless. Although he vowed that he was first-cousin to the 
Duke of Leinster, an officer in her Majesty’s service, and the 


590 CATHERINE: A STORY 

dearest friend Lord Marlborough had, his impudent captors would 
not believe a word of his statement (which, further, was garnished 
with a tremendous number of oaths) ; and he was, about eight I 
o’clock, carried up to the house of Squire Ballance, the neighbouring 
justice of the peace. 

When the worthy magistrate asked the crime of which the * 
prisoner had been guilty, the captors looked somewhat puzzled for j 
the moment ; since, in truth, it could not be shown that the Ensign j 
had committed any crime at all ; and if he had confined himself to 
simple silence, and thrown upon them the onus of proving his 
misdemeanours, Justice Ballance must have let him loose, and 
soundly rated his clerk and the landlord for detaining an honest j 
gentleman on so frivolous a charge. 

But this caution was not in the Ensign’s disposition ; and j 
though his accusers produced no satisfactory charge against him, his 
own words were quite enough to show how suspicious his character 
was. When asked his name, he gave it in as Captain Geraldine, 
on his way to Ireland, by Bristol, on a visit to his cousin the Duke i 
of Leinster. He swore solemnly that his friends, the Duke of J 
Marlborough and Lord Peterborough, under both of whom he had j 
served, should hear of the manner in which he had been treated; j 
and when the justice, — a sly old gentleman, and one that read the 
Gazettes, — asked him at what battles he had been present, the ] 
gallant Ensign pitched on a couple in Spain and in Flanders, which j 
had been fought within a week of each other, and vowed that he \ 
had been desperately wounded at both ; so that, at the end of his j 
examination, which had been taken down by the clerk, he had been , 
made to acknowledge as follows : — Captain Geraldine, six feet four 
inches in height; thin, with a very long red nose, and red hair; 
grey eyes, and speaks with a strong Irish accent ; is the first-cousin 
of the Duke of Leinster, and in constant communication with him : j 
does not know whether his Grace has any children ; does not know ! 
whereabouts he lives in London ; cannot say what sort of a looking j 
man his Grace is : is acquainted with the Duke of Marlborough, ] 
and served in the dragoons at the battle of Ramillies ; at which 
time he was with my Lord Peterborough before Barcelona. 
Borrowed the horse which he rides from a friend in London, three 
weeks since. Peter Hobbs, ostler, swears that it was in his 1 
master’s stable four days ago, and is the property of John Hayes, 1 
carpenter. Cannot account for the fifteen guineas found on him by j 
the landlord ; says there were twenty ; says he won them at cards, 1 
a fortnight since, at Edinburgh ; says he is riding about the country I 
for his amusement : afterwards says he is on a matter of life and 
death, and going to Bristol; declared last night, in the hearing of 


THE ENSIGN’S EXAMINATION 


591 


several witnesses, that he was going to York ; says he is a man of 
independent property, and has large estates in Ireland, and a 
hundred thousand pounds in the Bank of England. Has no shirt 
or stockings, and the coat he wears is marked “S.S.” In his boots 
is written “ Thomas Rodgers,” and in his hat is the name of the 
“ Rev. Doctor Snoffler.” 

Doctor Snoffler lived at Worcester, and had lately advertised in 
the Hue and Cry a number of articles taken from his house. Mr. 
Macshane said, in reply to this, that his hat had been changed at 
the inn, and he was ready to take his oath that he came thither in 
a gold-laced one. But this fact was disproved by the oaths of 
many persons who had seen him at the inn. And he was about 
to be imprisoned for the thefts which he had not committed (the 
fact about the hat being, that he had purchased it from a gentleman 
at the “ Three Rooks ” for two pints of beer) — he was about to be 
remanded, when, behold, Mrs. Hayes the elder made her appear- 
ance; and to her it was that the Ensign was indebted for his 
freedom. 

Old Hayes had gone to work before the ostler arrived; but 
when his wife heard the lad’s message, she instantly caused her 
pillion to be placed behind the saddle, and mounting the grey 
horse, urged the stable-boy to gallop as hard as ever he could to 
the justice’s house. 

She entered panting and alarmed. “ Oh, what is your honour 
going to do to this honest gentleman ? ” said she. “ In the name 
of Heaven, let him go ! His time is precious — he has important 
business — business of life and death.” 

“ I tould the jidge so,” said the Ensign, “but he refused to take 
my word — the sacred wurrd of honour of Captain Geraldine.” 

Macshane was good at a single lie, though easily flustered on 
an examination ; and this was a very creditable stratagem to 
acquaint Mrs. Hayes with the name that he bore. 

“What! you know Captain Geraldine'?” said Mr. Ballance, 
who was perfectly well acquainted with the carpenter’s wife. 

“In coorse she does. Hasn’t she known me these tin years? 
Are we not related? Didn’t she give me the very horse which I 
rode, and, to make belave, tould you I’d bought in London ? ” 

“Let her tell her own story. Are you related to Captain 
Geraldine, Mrs. Hayes?” 

“ Yes — oh yes ! ” 

“ A very elegant connection ! And you gave him the horse, 
did you, of your own free will ? ” 

“ Oh yes ! of my own will — I would give him anything. Do, 
do, your honour, let him go! His child is dying,” said the old 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


592 

lady, bursting into tears. “ It may be dead before he gets to — 
before he gets there. Oh, your honour, your honour, pray, pray, 
don’t detain him ! ” 

The justice did not seem to understand this excessive sympathy 
on the part of Mrs. Hayes ; nor did the father himself appear to 
be nearly so affected by his child’s probable fate as the honest 
woman who interested herself for him. On the contrary, when 
she made this passionate speech, Captain Geraldine only grinned, 
and • said, “ Niver mind, my dear. If his honour will keep an 
honest gentleman for doing nothing, why, let him — the law must 
settle between us; and as for the child, poor thing, the Lord 
deliver it ! ” 

At this, Mrs. Hayes fell to entreating more loudly than ever ; 
and as there was really no charge against him, Mr. Ballance was 
constrained to let him go. 

The landlord and his friends were making off, rather confused, 
when Ensign Macshane called upon the former in a thundering 
voice to stop, and refund the five guineas which he had stolen from 
him. Again the host swore there were but fifteen in his pocket. 
But when, on the Bible, the Ensign solemnly vowed that he had 
twenty, and called upon Mrs. Hayes to say whether yesterday, 
half-an-hour before he entered the inn, she had not seen him with 
twenty guineas, and that lady expressed herself ready to swear 
that she had, Mr. Landlord looked more crestfallen than ever, and 
said that he had not counted the money when he took it ; and 
though he did in his soul believe that there were only fifteen 
guineas, rather than be suspected of a shabby action, he would 
pay the five guineas out of his own pocket : which he did, and with 
the Ensign’s, or rather Mrs. Hayes’s, own coin. 

As soon as they were out of the justice’s house, Mr. Macshane, 
in the fulness of his gratitude, could not help bestowing an embrace 
upon Mrs. Hayes. And when she implored him to let her ride 
behind him to her darling son, he yielded with a very good grace, 
and off the pair set on John Hayes’s grey. 

“ Who has Nosey brought with him now 1 ” said Mr. Sicklop, 
Brock’s one-eyed confederate, who, about three hours after the 
above adventure, was lolling in the yard of the “Three Rooks.” 
It was our Ensign, with the mother of his captive. They had not 
met with any accident in their ride. 

“ I shall now have the shooprame bliss,” said Mr. Macshane, 
with much feeling, as he lifted Mrs. Hayes from the saddle — “ the 
shooprame bliss of intwining two harrts that are mead for one 
another. Ours, my dear, is a dismal profession ; but ah ! don’t 


MEETING BETWEEN MOTHER AND SON 593 

moments like this make aminds for years of pain ? This way, my 
dear. Turn to your right, then to your left — mind the stip — and 
the third door round the corner.” 

All these precautions were attended to; and after giving his 
concerted knock, Mr. Macshane was admitted into an apartment, 
which he entered holding his gold pieces in the one hand, and a lady 
by the other. 

We shall not describe the meeting which took place between 
mother and son. The old lady wept copiously; the young man 
was really glad to see his relative, for he deemed that his troubles 
were over. Mrs. Cat bit her lips, and stood aside, looking some- 
what foolish ; Mr. Brock counted the money ; and Mr. Macshane 
took a large dose of strong waters, as a pleasing solace for his 
labours, dangers, and fatigue. 

When the maternal feelings were somewhat calmed, the old 
lady had leisure to look about her, and really felt a kind of friend- 
ship and goodwill for the company of thieves in which she found 
herself. It seemed to her that they had conferred an actual favour 
on her, in robbing her of twenty guineas, threatening her son’s life, 
and finally letting him go. 

“ Who is that droll old gentleman ? ” said she ; and being told 
that it was Captain Wood, she dropped him a curtsey, and said, 
with much respect, “ Captain, your very humble servant ; ” which 
compliment Mr. Brock acknowledged by a gracious smile and 
bow. “And who is this pretty young lady?” continued Mrs. 
Hayes. 

“Why — hum — oh — mother, you must give her your blessing. 
She is Mrs. John Hayes.” And herewith Mr. Hayes brought 
forward his interesting lady, to introduce her to his mamma. 

The news did not at all please the old lady, who received 
Mrs. Catherine’s embrace with a very sour face indeed. However, 
the mischief was done ; and she was too glad to get back her son 
to be, on such an occasion, very angry with him. So, after a proper 
rebuke, she told Mrs. John Hayes that though she never approved 
of her son’s attachment, and thought he married below his condition, 
yet as the evil was done, it was their duty to make the best of it ; 
and she, for her part, would receive her into her house, and make 
her as comfortable there as she could. 

“ I wonder whether she has any more money in that house ? ” 
whispered Mr. Sicklop to Mr. Redcap; who, with the landlady, 
had come to the door of the room, and had been amusing themselves 
by the contemplation of this sentimental scene. 

“ What a fool that wild Hirishman was not to bleed her for 
more ! ” said the landlady ; “ but he’s a poor ignorant Papist. I’m 


594 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


sure my man ” (this gentleman had been hanged) “ wouldn’t have 
come away with such a beggarly sum.” 

“Suppose we have some more out of ’em?” said Mr. Redcap. 
“What prevents us? We have got the old mare, and the colt too, 
- — ha ! ha ! — and the pair of ’em ought to be worth at least a hun- 
dred to us.” 

This conversation was carried on sotto voce ; and I don’t know 
whether Mr. Brock had any notion of the plot which was arranged 
by the three worthies. The landlady began it. “ Which punch, 
madam, will you take ? ” says she. “ You must have something for 
the good of the house, now you are in it.” 

“ In coorse,” said the Ensign. 

“ Certainly,” said the other three. But the old lady said she 
was anxious to leave the place ; and putting down a crown-piece, 
requested the hostess to treat the gentlemen in her absence. “ Good- 
bye, Captain,” said the old lady. 

“ Ajew ! ” cried the Ensign, “ and long life to you, my dear. 
You got me out of a scrape at the justice’s yonder ; and, split me ! 
but Insign Macshane will remimber it as long as he lives.” 

And now Hayes and the two ladies made for the door ; but the 
landlady placed herself against it, and Mr. Sicklop said, “ No, no, 
my pretty madams, you ain’t a-going off so cheap as that neither ; 
you are not going out for a beggarly twenty guineas, look you, — we 
must have more.” 

Mr. Hayes starting back, and cursing his fate, fairly burst into 
tears ; the two women screamed ; and Mr. Brock looked as if the 
proposition both amused and had been expected by him ; but not 
so Ensign Macshane. 

“ Major ! ” said he, clawing fiercely hold of Brock’s arms. 

“ Ensign,” said Mr. Brock, smiling. 

“ Arr we, or arr we not, men of honour ? ” 

“Oh, in coorse,” said Brock, laughing, and using Macshane’s 
favourite expression. 

“ If we arr men of honour, we are bound to stick to our word ; 
and, hark ye, you dirty one-eyed scoundrel, if you don’t immadiately 
make way for these leedies, and this lily-livered young jontleman 
who’s crying so, the Meejor here and I will lug out and force you.” 
And so saying, he drew his great sword and made a pass at Mr. 
Sicklop ; which that gentleman avoided, and which caused him and 
his companion to retreat from the door. The landlady still kept 
her position at it, and with a storm of oaths against the Ensign, 
and against two Englishmen who ran away from a wild Hirishman, 
swore she would not budge a foot, and would stand there until her 
dying day. 


THE ENSIGN’S GALLANTRY 


595 

“ Faith, then, needs must,” said the Ensign, and made a lunge 
at the hostess, which passed so near the wretch’s throat, that she 
screamed, sank on her knees, and at last opened the door. 

Down the stairs, then, with great state, Mr. Macshane led the 
elder lady, the married couple following ; and having seen them to 
the street, took an affectionate farewell of the party, whom he 
vowed that he would come and see. “You can walk the eighteen 
miles aisy, between this and nightfall,” said he. 

“ Walk ! ” exclaimed Mr. Hayes. “ Why, haven’t we got Ball, 
and shall ride and tie all the way 1 ” 

“Madam!” cried Macshane, in a stern voice, “honour before 
everything. Did you not, in the presence of his worship, vow and 
declare that you gave me that horse, and now d’ye talk of taking it 
back again ? Let me tell you, madam, that such paltry thricks ill 
become a person of your years and respectability, and ought never 
to be played with Insign Timothy Macshane.” 

He waved his hat and strutted down the street ; and Mrs. 
Catherine Hayes, along with her bridegroom and mother-in-law, 
made the best of their way homeward on foot. 


CHAPTER VII 

WHICH EMBRACES A PERIOD OF SEVEN YEARS 


T HE recovery of so considerable a portion of his property from 
the clutches of Brock was, as may be imagined, no trifling 
source of joy to that excellent young man, Count Gustavus 
Adolphus de Galgenstein; and he was often known to say, with 
much archness, and a proper feeling of gratitude to the Fate which 
had ordained things so, that the robbery was, in reality, one of the 
best things that could have happened to him : for, in event of Mr. 
Brock’s not stealing the money, his Excellency the Count would 
have had to pay the whole to the Warwickshire Squire, who had 
won it from him at play. He was enabled, in the present instance, 
to plead his notorious poverty as an excuse; and the Warwickshire 
conqueror got off with nothing, except a very badly written autograph 
of the Count’s, simply acknowledging the debt. 

This point his Excellency conceded with the greatest candour ; 
but (as, doubtless, the reader may have remarked in the course of 
his experience) to owe is not quite the same thing as to pay ; and 
from the day of his winning the money until the day of his death 
the Warwickshire Squire did never, by any chance, touch a single 
bob, tizzy, tester, moidore, maravedi, doubloon, tomaun, or rupee, of 
the sum which Monsieur de Galgenstein had lost to him. 

That young nobleman was, as Mr. Brock hinted in the little 
autobiographical sketch which we gave in a former chapter, incar- 
cerated for a certain period, and for certain other debts, in the 
donjons of Shrewsbury ; but he released himself from them by that 
noble and consolatory method of whitewashing which the law has 
provided for gentlemen in his oppressed condition ; and he had not 
been a week in London, when he fell in with, and overcame, or put 
to flight, Captain Wood, alias Brock, and immediately seized upon 
the remainder of his property. After receiving this, the Count, with 
commendable discretion, disappeared from England altogether for a 
while ; nor are we at all authorised to state that any of his debts 
to his tradesmen were discharged, any more than his debts of honour, 
as they are pleasantly called. 

Having thus settled with his creditors, the gallant Count had 


THE COUNT MARRIES A BUTCH WIDOW 597 

interest enough with some of the great folk to procure for himself a 
post abroad, and was absent in Holland for some time. It was here 
that he became acquainted with the lovely Madam Silverkoop, the 
widow of a deceased gentleman of Leyden ; and although the lady 
was not at that age at which tender passions are usually inspired- 
being sixty — and though she could not, like Mademoiselle Ninon de 
TEnclos, then at Paris, boast of charms which defied the progress of 
time, — for Mrs. Silverkoop was as red as a boiled lobster, and as 
unwieldy as a porpoise ; and although her mental attractions did by 
no means make up for her personal deficiencies — for she was jealous, 
violent, vulgar, drunken, and stingy to a miracle : yet her charms 
[ had an immediate effect on Monsieur de Galgenstein ; and hence, 
perhaps, the reader (the rogue ! how well he knows the world !) will 
be led to conclude that the honest widow was rich. 

Such, indeed, she was and Count Gustavus, despising the 
difference between his twenty quarterings and her twenty thousand 
pounds, laid the most desperate siege to her, and finished by causing 
her to capitulate ; as I do believe, after a reasonable degree of press- 
ing, any woman will do to any man : such, at least, has been my 
experience in the matter. 

The Count then married ; and it was curious to see how he — 
who, as w r e have seen in the case of Mrs. Cat, had been as great a 
tiger and domestic bully as any extant — now, by degrees, fell into 
a quiet submission towards his enormous Countess ; who ordered him 
up and down as a lady orders her footman, who permitted him speedily 
not to have a will of his own, and who did not allow him a shilling 
of her money without receiving for the same an accurate account. 

How was it that he, the abject slave of Madam Silverkoop, had 
been victorious over Mrs. Cat ? The first blow is, I believe, the 
decisive one in these cases, and the Countess had stricken it a week 
after their marriage; — establishing a supremacy which the Count 
never afterwards attempted to question. 

We have alluded to his Excellency’s marriage, as in duty bound, 
because it w T ill be necessary to account for his appearance hereafter 
in a more splendid fashion than that under which he has hitherto 
been known to us ; and just comforting the reader by the knowledge 
that the union, though prosperous in a worldly point of view, was, 
in reality, extremely unhappy, we must say no more from this time 
forth of the fat and legitimate Madam de Galgenstein. Our darling 
is Mrs. Catherine, who had formerly acted in her stead ; and only 
in so much as the fat Countess did influence in any way the destinies 
of our heroine, or those wise and virtuous persons who have appeared 
and are to follow her to her end, shall we in any degree allow her 
name to figure here. It is an awful thing to get a glimpse, as one 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


598 

sometimes does, when the time is past, of some little little wheel 
which works the whole mighty machinery of Fate, and see how 
our destinies turn on a minute’s delay or advance, or on the turning 
of a street, or on somebody else’s turning of a street, or on somebody 
else’s doing of something else in Downing Street or in Timbuctoo, 
now or a thousand years ago. Thus, for instance, if Miss Poots, in 
the year 1695, had never been the lovely inmate of a Spielhaus at 
Amsterdam, Mr. Van Silverkoop would never have seen her ; if the 
day had not been extraordinarily hot, the worthy merchant would 
never have gone thither ; if he had not been fond of Rhenish wine 
and sugar, he never would have called for any such delicacies ; if 
he had not called for them, Miss Ottilia Poots would never have 
brought them, and partaken of them ; if he had not been rich, she 
would certainly have rejected all the advances made to her by Silver- 
koop ; if he had not been so fond of Rhenish and sugar, he never 
would have died ; and Mrs. Silverkoop would have been neither rich 
nor a widow, nor a wife to Count von Galgenstein. Nay, nor would 
this history have ever been written ; for if Count Galgenstein had 
not married the rich widow, Mrs. Catherine would never have 

Oh, my dear madam ! you thought we were going to tell you. 
Pooh ! nonsense ! — no such thing ! not for two or three and seventy 
pages or so, — when, perhaps, you may know what Mrs. Catherine 
never would have done. 

The reader will remember, in the second chapter of these 
Memoirs, the announcement that Mrs. Catherine had given to the 
world a child, who might bear, if he chose, the arms of Galgenstein, 
with the further adornment of a bar-sinister. This child had been 
put out to nurse some time before its mother’s elopement from the 
Count ; and as that nobleman was in funds at the time (having had 
that success at play which we duly chronicled), he paid a sum of 
no less than twenty guineas, which was to be the yearly reward 
of the nurse into whose charge the boy was put. The woman grew 
fond of the brat ; and when, after the first year, she had no further 
news or remittances from father or mother, she determined, for a 
while at least, to maintain the infant at her own expense ; i'or, when 
rebuked by her neighbours on this score, she stoutly swore that no 
parents could ever desert their children, and that some day or other 
she should not fail to be rewarded for her trouble with this one. 

Under this strange mental hallucination poor Goody Billings, 
who had five children and a husband of her own, continued to give 
food and shelter to little Tom for a period of no less than seven 
years ; and though it must be acknowledged that the young gentle- 
man did not in the slightest degree merit the kindnesses shown to 
him, Goody Billings, who was of a very soft and pitiful disposition, 


MASTER THOMAS BILLINGS 599 

continued to bestow them upon him : because, she said, he was lonely 
and unprotected, and deserved them more than other children who 
had fathers and mothers to look after them. If, then, any differ- 
ence was made between Tom’s treatment and that of her own brood, 
it was considerably in favour of the former ; to whom the largest 
proportions of treacle were allotted for his bread, and the handsomest 
supplies of hasty pudding. Besides, to do Mrs. Billings justice, 
there ivas a party against him ; and that consisted not only of her 
husband and her five children, but of every single person in the 
neighbourhood who had an opportunity of seeing and becoming 
acquainted with Master Tom. 

A celebrated philosopher — I think Miss Edgeworth — has 
broached the consolatory doctrine, that in intellect and disposition 
all human beings are entirely equal, and that circumstance and educa- 
tion are the causes of the distinctions and divisions which afterwards 
unhappily take place among them. Not to argue this question, 

! which places Jack Howard and Jack Thurtell on an exact level, — 
which would have us to believe that Lord Melbourne is by natural 
i gifts and excellences a man as honest, brave, and far-sighted as the 
! Duke of Wellington, — which would make out that Lord Lyndhurst 
I is, in point of principle, eloquence, and political honesty, no better 
! than Mr. O’Connell, — not, I say, arguing this doctrine, let us simply 
i state that Master Thomas Billings (for, having no other, he took the 
name of the worthy people who adopted him) was in his long-coats 
fearfully passionate, screaming and roaring perpetually, and showing 
all the ill that he could show. At the age of two, when his strength 
enabled him to toddle abroad, his favourite resort was the coal-hole 
or the dungheap : his roarings had not diminished in the least, and 
he had added to his former virtues two new ones, — a love of fighting 
and stealing ; both which amiable qualities he had many opportunities 
of exercising every day. He fought hi3 little adoptive brothers and 
sisters ; he kicked and cuffed his father and mother ; he fought the 
cat, stamped upon the kittens, was worsted in a severe battle with 
the hen in the backyard ; but, in revenge, nearly beat a little sucking- 
pig to death, whom he caught alone and rambling near his favourite 
haunt, the dunghill. As for stealing, he stole the eggs, which he 
perforated and emptied ; the butter, which he ate with or without 
bread, as he could find it ; the sugar, which he cunningly secreted in 
the leaves of a “ Baker’s Chronicle,” that nobody in the establish- 
ment could read ; and thus from the pages of history he used to suck 
in all he knew — thieving and lying namely ; in which, for his years, 
he made wonderful progress. If any followers of Miss Edgeworth 
and the philosophers are inclined to disbelieve this statement, or to 
set it down as overcharged and distorted, let them be assured that 


600 CATHERINE: A STORY 

just this very picture was, of all the pictures in the world, taken 
from nature. I, Ikey Solomons, once had a dear little brother who 
could steal before he could walk (and this not from encouragement, 
for, if you know the world, you must know that in families of our 
profession the point of honour is sacred at home, but from pure 
nature) — who could steal, I say, before he could walk, and lie before 
he could speak ; and who, at four and a half years of age, having 
attacked my sister Rebecca on some question of lollipops, had smitten 
her on the elbow with a fire-shovel, apologising to us by saying 

simply, “ her, I wish it had been her head ! ” Dear, dear 

Aminadab ! I think of you, and laugh these philosophers to scorn. 
Nature made you for that career which you fulfilled : you were from 
your birth to your dying a scoundrel ; you couldn't have been any- 
thing else, however your lot was cast ; and blessed it was that you 
were born among the prigs, — for had you been of any other profes- 
sion, alas ! alas ! what ills might you have done ! As I have heard 
the author of “Richelieu,” “Siamese Twins,” &c., say, “ Poeta 
nascitur, non fit,” which means that though he had tried ever so 
much to be a poet, it was all moonshine : in the like manner, I say, 
“ Roagus nascitur, non fit.” We have it from nature, and so a fig 
for Miss Edgeworth. 

In this manner, then, while his father, blessed with a wealthy 
wife, was leading, in a fine house, the life of a galley-slave ; while his 
mother, married to Mr. Hayes, and made an honest woman of, as 
the saying is, was passing her time respectably in Warwickshire, Mr. 
Thomas Billings was inhabiting the same county, not cared for by 
either of them ; but ordained by Fate to join them one day, and have 
a mighty influence upon the fortunes of both. For, as it has often 
happened to the traveller in the York or the Exeter coach to fall 
snugly asleep in his corner, and on awaking suddenly to find himself 
sixty or seventy miles from the place where Somnus first visited 
him : as, we say, although you sit still, Time, poor wretch, keeps 
perpetually running on, and so must run day and night, with never 
a pause or a halt of five minutes to get a drink, until his dying day ; 
let the reader imagine that since he left Mrs. Hayes and all the 
other worthy personages of this history, in the last chapter, seven 
years have sped away; during which, all our heroes and heroines 
have been accomplishing their destinies. 

Seven years of country carpentering, or rather trading, on the 
part of a husband, of ceaseless scolding, violence, and discontent on 
the part of a wife, are not pleasant to describe : so we shall omit 
altogether any account of the earlier married life of Mr. and Mrs. 
John Hayes. The “Newgate Calendar” (to which excellent com- 
pilation we and the other popular novelists of the day can never 


WHAT HAPPENED IN SEVEN YEARS 601 

be sufficiently grateful) states that Hayes left his house three or four 
times during this period, and, urged by the restless humours of his 
wife, tried several professions : returning, however, as he grew weary 
of each, to his wife and his paternal home. After a certain time his 
parents died, and by their demise he succeeded to a small property, 
and the carpentering business, which he for some time followed. 

What, then, in the meanwhile, had become of Captain Wood, 
or Brock, and Ensign Macshane'? — the only persons now to be 
accounted for in our catalogue. For about six months after their 
capture and release of Mr. Hayes, those noble gentlemen had 
followed, with much prudence and success, that trade which the 
celebrated and polite Duval, the ingenious Sheppard, the dauntless 
Turpin, and indeed many other heroes of our most popular novels, 
had pursued, or were pursuing, in their time. And so considerable 
were said to be Captain Wood’s gains, that reports were abroad of 
his having somewhere a buried treasure ; to which he might have 
added more, had not Fate suddenly cut short his career as a prig. 
He and the Ensign were — shame to say — transported for stealing 
three pewter-pots off a railing at Exeter ; and not being known in 
the town, which they had only reached that morning, they were 
detained by no further charges, but simply condemned on this one. 
For this misdemeanour, Her Majesty’s Government vindictively sent 
them for seven years beyond the sea; and, as the fashion then 
was, sold the use of their bodies to Virginian planters during that 
space of time. It is thus, alas ! that the strong are always used to 
deal with the weak, and many an honest fellow has been led to rue 
his unfortunate difference with the law. 

Thus, then, we have settled all scores. The Count is in Holland 
with his wife; Mrs. Cat in Warwickshire along with her excellent hus- 
band ; Master Thomas Billings with his adoptive parents in the same 
county ; and the two military gentlemen watching the progress and 
cultivation of the tobacco and cotton plant in the New World. All 
these things having passed between the acts, dingaring-a-dingaring a- 
dingle-dingle-ding, the drop draws up, and the next act begins. By 
the way, the play ends with a drop : but that is neither here nor there. 

[Here, as in a theatre, the orchestra is supposed to play some- 
thing melodious. The people get up, shake themselves, 
yawn, and settle down in their seats again. “Porter, 
ale, ginger-beer, cider,” comes round, squeezing through 
the legs of the gentlemen in the pit. Nobody takes 
anything, as usual ; and lo ! the curtain rises again. 
“ ’Sh, ’shsh, ’shshshhh ! Hats off ! ” says everybody.] 


602 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


Mrs. Hayes had now been for six years the adored wife of Mr. 
Hayes, and no offspring had arisen to bless their loves and per- 
petuate their name. She had obtained a complete mastery over her 
lord and master ; and having had, as far as was in that gentleman’s 
power, every single wish gratified that she could demand, in the 
way of dress, treats to Coventry and Birmingham, drink, and what 
not — for, though a hard man, John Hayes had learned to spend his 
money pretty freely on himself and her — having had all her wishes 
gratified, it was natural that she should begin to find out some more ; 
and the next whim she hit upon was to be restored to her child. 
It may be as well to state that she had never informed her husband 
of the existence of that phenomenon, although he was aware of his 
wife’s former connection with the Count, — Mrs. Hayes, in their 
matrimonial quarrels, invariably taunting him with accounts of her 
former splendour and happiness, and with his own meanness of 
taste in condescending to take up with his Excellency’s leavings. 

She determined then (but as yet had not confided her deter- 
mination to her husband), she would have her boy; although in 
her seven years’ residence within twenty miles of him she had never 
once thought of seeing him : and the kind reader knows that when 
his excellent lady determines on a thing — a shawl, or an opera-box, 
or a new carriage, or twenty-four singing-lessons from Tamburini, 
or a night at the “ Eagle Tavern,” City Road, or a ride in a ’bus to 
Richmond, and tea and brandy-and-water at “ Rose Cottage Hotel ” 
— the reader, high or low, knows that when Mrs. Reader desires a 
thing, have it she will ; you may just as well talk of avoiding her 
as of avoiding gout, bills, or grey hairs — and that, you know, is im- 
possible. I, for my part, have had all three — ay, and a wife too. 

I say that when a woman is resolved on a thing, happen it will ; 
if husbands refuse, Fate will interfere (fleeter e si nequeo, &c. ; but 
quotations are odious). And some hidden power was working in 
the case of Mrs. Hayes, and, for its own awful purposes, lending 
her its aid. 

Who has not felt how he works — the dreadful conquering Spirit 
of 111 ? Who cannot see, in the circle of his own society, the fated 
and foredoomed to woe and evil Some call the doctrine of destiny 
a dark creed ; but, for me, I would fain try and think it a conso- 
latory one. It is better, with all one’s sins upon one’s head, to 
deem one’s self in the hands of Fate, than to think — with our fierce 
passions and weak repentances ; with our resolves so loud, so vain, 
so ludicrously, despicably weak and frail ; with our dim, wavering, 
wretched conceits about virtue, and our irresistible propensity to 
wrong, — that we are the workers of our future sorrow or happiness. 
If we depend on our strength, what is it against mighty circum- 


TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES 603 

stance ? If we look to ourselves, what hope have we ? Look back 
at the whole of your life, and see how faith has mastered you and 
it. Think of your disappointments and your successes. Has your 
striving influenced one or the other ? A fit of indigestion puts itself 
between you and honours and reputation ; an apple plops on your 
nose, and makes you a world’s wonder and glory ; a fit of poverty 
makes a rascal of you, who were, and are still, an honest man ; 
clubs, trumps, or six lucky mains at dice, make an honest man for 
life of you, who ever were, will be, and are a rascal. Who sends 
the illness ? who causes the apple to fall ? who deprives you of your 
worldly goods 1 or who shuffles the cards, and brings trumps, 
honour, virtue, and prosperity back again? You call it chance; 
ay, and so it is chance that when the floor gives way, and the rope 
stretches tight, the poor wretch before St. Sepulchre’s clock dies. 
Only with us, clear-sighted mortals as we are, we can’t see the 
rope by which we hang, and know not when or how the drop may 
fall. 

But revenons a nos moutons : let us return to that sweet lamb 
Master Thomas, and the milk-white ewe Mrs. Cat. Seven years 
had passed away, and she began to think that she should very 
much like to see her child once more. It was written that she 
should; and you shall hear how, soon after, without any great 
exertions of hers, back he came to her. 

In the month of July, in the year 1715, there came down a 
road about ten miles from the city of Worcester, two gentlemen ; 
not mounted, Templar-like, upon one horse, but having a horse 
between them — a sorry bay, with a sorry saddle, and a large pack 
behind it ; on which each by turn took a ride. Of the two, one 
was a man of excessive stature, with red hair, a very prominent 
nose, and a faded military dress ; while the other, an old weather- 
beaten, sober-looking personage, wore the costume of a civilian — 
both man and dress appearing to have reached the autumnal, or 
seedy state. However, the pair seemed, in spite of their apparent 
poverty, to be passably merry. The old gentleman rode the horse ; 
and had, in the course of their journey, ridden him two miles at 
least in every three. The tall one walked with immense strides 
by his side ; and seemed, indeed, as if he could have quickly out- 
stripped the four-footed animal, had he chosen to exert his speed, 
or had not affection for his comrade retained him at his stirrup. 

A short time previously the horse had cast a shoe ; and this the 
tall man on foot had gathered up, and was holding in his hand : 
it having been voted that the first blacksmith to whose shop they 
should come should be called upon to fit it again upon the bay 
horse. 


604 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

“ Do you remimber this counthry, Meejor ? ” said the tall man, 
who was looking about him very much pleased, and sucking a flower. 

“ I think thim green cornfields is prettier looking at than the d 

tobacky out yondther, and bad luck to it ! ” 

“I recollect the place right well, and some queer pranks we 
played here seven years agone,” responded the gentleman addressed 
as Major. “ You remember that man and his wife, whom we took 
in pawn at the £ Three Rooks 5 1 ” 

“ And the landlady only hung last Michaelmas ? ” said the tall 
man parenthetically. 

“ Hang the landlady !— we’ve got all we ever would out of her, 
you know. But about the man and woman. You went after the 
chap’s mother, and, like a jackass, as you are, let him loose. Well, 
the woman was that Catherine that you’ve often heard me talk 

about. I like the wench, her, for I almost brought her up ; 

and she was for a year or two along with that scoundrel Galgenstein, 
who has been the cause of my ruin.” 

“ The infermal blackguard and ruffian ! ” said the tall man ; 
who, with his companion, has no doubt been recognised by the 
reader. 

“ Well, this Catherine had a child by Galgenstein ; and some- 
where here hard by the woman lived to whom we carried the brat to 
nurse. She was the wife of a blacksmith, one Billings : it won’t be 
out of the way to get o'fir horse shod at his house, if he is alive still, 
and we may learn something about the little beast. I should be 
glad to see the mother well enough.” 

“ Do I remimber her ^ ” said the Ensign. “ Do I remimber 
whisky ? Sure I do, and the snivelling sneak her husband, and the 
stout old lady her mother-in-law, and the dirty one-eyed ruffian who 
sold me the parson’s hat that had so nearly brought me into trouble. 
Oh but it was a rare rise we got out of them chaps, and the old 
landlady that’s hanged too ! ” And here both Ensign Macshane and 
Major Brock, or Wood, grinned, and showed much satisfaction. 

It will be necessary to explain the reason of it. We gave the 
British public to understand that the landlady of the “ Three 
Rooks,” at Worcester, was a notorious fence, or banker of thieves; 
that is, a purchaser of their merchandise. In her hands Mr. Brock 
and his companion had left property to the amount of sixty or 
seventy pounds, which was secreted in a cunning recess in a chamber 
of the Three Rooks ” known only to the landlady and the gentlemen 
who banked with her ; and in this place, Mr. Sicklop, the one-eyed 
man who had joined in the Hayes adventure, his comrade, and one 
or two of the topping prigs of the county, were free. Mr. Sicklop 
had been shot dead in a night attack near Bath ; the landlady had 


A VERY PRECOCIOUS URCHIN 605 

been suddenly hanged, as an accomplice in another case of robbery ; 
and when, on their return from Virginia, our two heroes, whose 
hopes of livelihood depended upon it, had bent their steps towards 
Worcester, they were not a little frightened to hear of the cruel fate 
of the hostess and many of the amiable frequenters of the “ Three 
Rooks.” All the goodly company were separated; the house was 
no longer an inn. Was the .money gone too ? At least it was worth 
while to look — which Messrs. Brock and Macshane determined 
to do. 

The house being now a private one, Mr. Brock, with a genius 
that was above his station, visited its owner, with a huge portfolio 
under his arm, and, in the character of a painter, requested per- 
mission to take a particular sketch from a particular window. The 
Ensign followed with the artist’s materials (consisting simply of a 
screwdriver and a crowbar) ; and it is hardly necessary to say that, 
when admission was granted to them, they opened the well-known 
door, and to their inexpressible satisfaction discovered, not their own 
peculiar savings exactly, for these had been appropriated instantly 
on hearing of their transportation, but stores of money and goods to 
the amount of near three hundred pounds : to which Mr. Macshane 
said they had as just and honourable a right as anybody else. And 
so they had as just a right as anybody — except the original owners : 
but who was to discover them ? 

With this booty they set out on their journey — anywhere, for 
they knew not whither ; and it so chanced that when their horse’s 
shoe came off, they were within a few furlongs of the cottage of 
Mr. Billings, the blacksmith. As they came near, they were 
saluted by tremendous roars issuing from the smithy. A small 
boy was held across the bellows, two or three children of smaller 
and larger growth were holding him down, and many others of the 
village were gazing in at the window, while a man, half-naked, 
was lashing the little boy with a whip, and occasioning the cries 
heard by the travellers. As the horse drew up, the operator 
looked at the new-comers for a moment, and then proceeded in- 
continently with his work; belabouring the child more fiercely 
than ever. 

When he had done, he turned round to the new-comers and 
asked how he could serve them 1 whereupon Mr. Wood (for such 
was the name he adopted, and by such we shall call him to the 
end) wittily remarked that however he might wish to serve them, 
he seemed mightily inclined to serve that young gentleman first. 

“It’s no joking matter,” said the blacksmith : “if I don’t serve 
him so now, he’ll be worse off in his old age. He’ll come to the 
gallows, as sure as his name is Bill— never mind what his name 


606 CATHERINE: A STORY 

is.” And so saying, he gave the urchin another cut; which 
elicited, of course, another scream. 

“ Oh ! his name is Bill 1 ?” said Captain Wood. 

“ His name’s not Bill ! ” said the blacksmith sulkily. “ He’s 
no name ; and no heart, neither. My wife took the brat in, seven 
years ago, from a beggarly French chap to nurse, and she kept 
him, for she was a good soul” (here his eyes began to wink), “and 
she’s — she’s gone now ” (here he began fairly to blubber). “ And 
d — — him, out of love for her, I kept him too, and the scoundrel 
is a liar and a thief. This blessed day, merely to vex me and my 

boys here, he spoke ill of her, he did, and I’ll — cut — his life 

— out — I — will ! ” and with each word honest Mulciber applied 
a whack on the body of little Tom Billings; who, by shrill 
shrieks, and oaths in treble, acknowledged the receipt of the 
blows. 

“Come, come,” said Mr. Wood, “set the boy down, and the 
bellows a-going ; my horse wants shoeing, and the poor lad has had 
strapping enough.” 

The blacksmith obeyed, and cast poor “Master Thomas loose. 
As he staggered away and looked back at his tormentor, his 
countenance assumed an expression which made Mr. Wood say, 
grasping hold of Macshane’s arm, “ It’s the boy, it’s the boy ! 
When his mother gave Galgenstein the laudanum, she had the 
self-same look with her P’ 

“Had she really now?” said Mr. Macshane. “And pree, 
Meejor, who was his mother?” 

“ Mrs. Cat, you fool ! ” answered W T ood. 

“ Then, upon my secred word of honour, she has a mighty fine 
kitten anyhow, my dear. Aha ! ” 

“ They don’t drown such kittens,” said Mr. Wood archly ; and 
Macshane, taking the allusion, clapped his finger to his nose in 
token of perfect approbation of his commander’s sentiment. 

While the blacksmith was shoeing the horse, Mr. Wood asked 
him many questions concerning the lad whom he had just been 
chastising, and succeeded, beyond a doubt, in establishing his 
identity with the child whom Catherine Hall had brought into the 
world seven years since. Billings told him of all the virtues of his 
wife, and the manifold crimes of the lad : how he stole, and fought, 
and lied, and swore ; and though the youngest under his roof, 
exercised the most baneful influence over all the rest of his family. 
He was determined at last, he said, to put him to the parish, for 
he did not dare to keep him. 

“ He’s a fine whelp, and would fetch ten pieces in Yirginny,” 
sighed the Ensign. 


THOMAS BILLINGS LEAVES HOME 607 


“ Crimp, of Bristol, would give five for him,” said Mr. Wood, 
ruminating. 

“ Why not take him ? ” said the Ensign. 

“Faith, why not ?” said Mr. Wood. “His keep, meanwhile, 
will not he sixpence a day.” Then turning round to the black- 
smith, “ Mr. Billings,” said he, “ you will he surprised, perhaps, to 
hear that I know everything regarding that poor lad’s history. His 
mother was an unfortunate lady of high family, now no more ; his 
father a German nobleman, Count de Galgenstein by name.” 

“ The very man ! ” said Billings : “ a young, fair-haired man, 
who came here with the child, and a dragoon sergeant.” 

“ Count de Galgenstein by name, who, on the point of death, 
recommended the infant to me.” 

“And did he pay you seven years’ boarding 1 ?” said Mr. Billings, 
who was quite alive at the very idea. 

“ Alas, sir, not a jot ! He died, sir, six hundred pounds in my 
debt ; didn’t he, Ensign ? ” 

“ Six hundred, upon my secred honour ! I remember when he 
got into the house along with the poli ” 

“ Psha ! what matters it?” here broke out Mr. Wood, looking 
fiercely at the Ensign. “ Six hundred pounds he owes me : how 
was he to pay you ? But he told me to take charge of this boy, 
if I found him ; and found him I have, and will take charge of him, 
if you will hand him over.” 

“ Send our Tom ! ” cried Billings. And when that youth 
appeared, scowling, and yet trembling, and prepared, as it seemed, 
for another castigation, his father, to his surprise, asked him if he 
was willing to go along with those gentlemen, or whether he would 
be a good lad and stay with him. 

Mr. Tom replied immediately, “ I won’t be a good lad, and I’d 
rather go to than stay with you ! ” 

“Will you leave your brothers and sisters?” said Billings, 
looking very dismal. 

“ Hang my brothers and sisters — I hate ’em ; and, besides I 
haven’t got any ! ” 

“ But you had a good mother, hadn’t you, Tom ? ” 

Tom paused for a moment. 

“ Mother’s gone,” said he, “ and you flog me, and I’ll go with 
these men.” 

“Well, then, go thy ways,” said Billings, starting up in a 
passion : “go thy ways for a graceless reprobate ; and if this 
gentleman will take you, he may do so.” 

After some further parley, the conversation ended, and the 
next morning Mr. Wood’s party consisted of three : a little boy 


608 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


being mounted upon the bay horse, in addition to the Ensign or 
himself ; and the whole company went journeying towards Bristol. 

We have said that Mrs. Hayes had, on a sudden, taken a fit of 
maternal affection, and was bent upon being restored to her child ; 
and that benign destiny which watched over the life of this lucky 
lady instantly set about gratifying her wish, and, without cost to 
herself of coach-hire or saddle-horse, sent the young gentleman very 
quickly to her arms. The village in which the Hayeses dwelt was 
but a very few miles out of the road from Bristol ; whither, on the 
benevolent mission above hinted at, our party of worthies were 
bound : and coming, towards the afternoon, in sight of the house 
of that very Justice Ballance who had been so nearly the ruin of 
Ensign Macshane, that officer narrated, for the hundredth time, and 
with much glee, the circumstances which had then befallen him, 
and the manner in which Mrs. Hayes the elder had come forward 
to his rescue. 

“Suppose we go and see the old girl?” suggested Mr. Wood. 
“No harm can come to us now.” And his comrade always assent- 
ing, they wound their way towards the village, and reached it as 
the evening came on. In the public-house where they rested, 
Wood made inquiries concerning the Hayes family; was informed 
of the death of the old couple, of the establishment of John Hayes 
and his wife in their place, and of the kind of life that these latter 
led together. When all these points had been imparted to him, 
he ruminated much : an expression of sublime triumph and exulta- 
tion at length lighted up his features. “ I think, Tim,” said he at 
last, “ that we can make more than five pieces of that boy.” 

“ Oh, in coorse ! ” said Timothy Macshane, Esquire ; who always 
agreed with his “ Meejor.” 

“ In coorse, you fool ! and how % I’ll tell you how. This Hayes 
is well to do in the world, and ” 

“ And we’ll nab him again — ha, ha ! ” roared out Macshane. 

“ By my secred honour, Meejor, there never was a gineral like you 
at a strathyjam ! ” 

“ Peace, you bellowing donkey, and don’t wake the child. The 
man is well to do, his wife rules him, and they have no children. 
Now, either she will be very glad to have the boy back again, and 
pay for the finding of him, or else she has said nothing about him, 
and will pay us for being silent too : or, at any rate, Hayes himself 
will be ashamed at finding his wife the mother of a child a year 
older than his marriage, and will pay for the keeping of the brat 
away. There’s profit, my dear, in any one of the cases, or my 
name’s not Peter Brock.” 


STRATEGIC COMBINATIONS 


609 

When the Ensign understood this wondrous argument, he would 
fain have fallen on his knees and worshipped his friend and 
guide. They began operations, almost immediately, by an attack 
on Mrs. Hayes. On hearing, as she did in private interview with 
the ex-corporal the next morning, that her son was found, she was 
agitated by both of the passions which Wood attributed to her. 
She longed to have the boy back, and would give any reasonable 
sum to see him ; but she dreaded exposure, and would pay equally 
to avoid that. How could she gain the one point and escape 
the other? 

Mrs. Hayes hit upon an expedient which, I am given to under- 
stand, is not uncommon nowadays. She suddenly discovered that 
she had a dear brother, who had been obliged to fly the country in 
consequence of having joined the Pretender, and had died in France, 
leaving behind him an only son. This boy her brother had, with his 
last breath, recommended to her protection, and had confided him to 
the charge of a brother officer who was now in the country, and would 
speedily make his appearance ; and, to put the story beyond a doubt, 
Mr. Wood wrote the letter from her brother stating all these 
particulars, and Ensign Macshane received full instructions how 
to perform the part of the “ brother officer.” What consideration 
Mr. Wood received for his services, we cannot say ; only it is well 
known that Mr. Hayes caused to be committed to gaol a young 
apprentice in his service, charged with having broken open a cup- 
board in which Mr. Hayes had forty guineas in gold and silver, and 
to which none but he and his wife had access. 

Having made these arrangements, the Corporal and his little 
party decamped to a short distance, and Mrs. Catherine was left 
to prepare her husband for a speedy addition to his family, in the 
shape of this darling nephew. John Hayes received the news with 
anything but pleasure. He had never heard of any brother of 
Catherine’s ; she had been bred at the workhouse, and nobody ever 
hinted that she had relatives : but it is easy for a lady of moderate 
genius to invent circumstances ; and with lies, tears, threats, coaxings, 
oaths, and other blandishments, she compelled him to submit. 

Two days afterwards, as Mr. Hayes was working in his shop 
with his lady seated beside him, the trampling of a horse was heard 
in his courtyard, and a gentleman, of huge stature, descended from 
it, and strode into the shop. His figure was wrapped in a large 
cloak ; but Mr. Hayes could not help fancying that he had some- 
where seen his face before. 

“ This, I preshoom,” said the gentleman, “is Misther Hayes, 
that I have come so many miles to see, and this is his amiable lady ? 
I was the most intimate frind, madam, of your laminted brother, 
4 2 Q 


610 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


who died in King Lewis’s service, and whose last touching letthers 
I despatched to you two days ago. I have with me a further 
precious token of my dear friend, Captain Hall — it is here.” 

And so saying, the military gentleman, with one arm, removed 
his cloak, and stretching forward the other into Hayes’s face almost, 
stretched likewise forward a little boy, grinning and sprawling in the 
air, and prevented only from falling to the ground by the hold which 
the Ensign kept of the waistband of his little coat and breeches. 

“Isn’t he a pretty boy?” said Mrs. Hayes, sidling up to her 
husband tenderly, and pressing one of Mr. Hayes’s hands. 

About the lad’s beauty it is needless to say what the carpenter 
thought ; but that night, and for many, many nights after, the lad 
stayed at Mr. Hayes’s. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ENUMERATES THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF MASTER THOMAS 
BILLINGS— INTRODUCES BROCK AS DOCTOR WOOD— AND 
ANNOUNCES THE EXECUTION OF ENSIGN MACSHANE 

W E are obliged, in recording this history, to follow accurately 
that great authority, the “ Calendarium Newgaticum 
Roagorumque Registerium,” of which every lover of litera- 
ture in the present day knows the value ; and as that remarkable 
work totally discards all the unities in its narratives, and reckons 
the life of its heroes only by their actions, and not by periods of 
time, we must follow in the wake of this mighty ark — a humble 
cock-boat. When it pauses, we pause ; when it runs ten knots an 
hour, we run with the same celerity ; and as, in order to carry the 
reader from the penultimate chapter of this work unto the last 
chapter, we were compelled to make him leap over a gap of seven 
blank years, ten years more must likewise be granted to us before 
we are at liberty to resume our history. 

During that period, Master Thomas Billings had been under the 
especial care of his mother ; and, as may be imagined, he rather 
increased than diminished the accomplishments for which he had 
been remarkable while under the roof of his foster-father. And 
with this advantage, that while at the blacksmith’s, and only three 
or four years of age, his virtues were necessarily appreciated only in 
his family circle, and among those few acquaintances of his own 
time of life whom a youth of three can be expected to meet in the 
alleys or over the gutters of a small country hamlet, — in his mother’s 
residence, his circle extended with his own growth, and he began to 
give proofs of those powers of which in infancy there had been only 
encouraging indications. Thus it was nowise remarkable that a 
child of four years should not know his letters, and should have had 
a great disinclination to learn them; but when a young man of 
fifteen showed the same creditable ignorance, the same undeviating 
dislike, it was easy to see that he possessed much resolution and 
perseverance. When it was remarked, too, that, in case of any 
difference, he not only beat the usher, but by no means disdained to 
torment and bully the very smallest boys of the school, it was easy 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


6 12 

to see that his mind was comprehensive and careful, as well as 
courageous and grasping. As it was said of the Duke of Wellington, 
in the Peninsula, that he had a thought for everybody — from Lord 
Hill to the smallest drummer in the army — in like manner Tom 
Billings bestowed his attention on high and low ; but in the shape 
of blows : he would fight the strongest and kick the smallest, and 
was always at work with one or the other. At thirteen, when he 
was removed from the establishment whither he had been sent, he 
was the cock of the school out of doors, and the very last boy in. 
He used to let the little boys and new-comers pass him by, and 
laugh ; but he always belaboured them unmercifully afterwards ; 
and then it was, he said, his turn to laugh. With such a pugnacious 
turn, Tom Billings ought to have been made a soldier, and might 
have died a marshal ; but, by an unlucky ordinance of fate, he was 
made a tailor, and died a — never mind what for the present; 
suffice it to say, that he was suddenly cut off, at a very early period 
of his existence, by a disease which has exercised considerable ravages 
among the British youth. 

By consulting the authority above mentioned, we find that Hayes 
did not confine himself to the profession of a carpenter, or remain 
long established in the country ; but was induced, by the eager 
spirit of Mrs. Catherine most probably, to try his fortune in the 
metropolis ; where he lived, flourished, and died. Oxford Road, 
Saint Giles’s, and Tottenham Court were, at various periods of his 
residence in town, inhabited by him. At one place he carried on 
the business of greengrocer and small-coalman ; in another, he was 
carpenter, undertaker, and lender of money to the poor ; finally, he 
was a lodging-house keeper in the Oxford or Tyburn Road ; but con- 
tinued to exercise the last-named charitable profession. 

Lending as he did upon pledges, and carrying on a pretty large 
trade, it was not for him, of course, to inquire into the pedigree of 
all the pieces of plate, the bales of cloth, swords, watches, wigs, 
shoe-buckles, &c., that were confided by his friends to his keeping ; 
but it is clear that his friends had the requisite confidence in him, 
and that he enjoyed the esteem of a class of characters who still 
live in history, and are admired unto this very d.ay. The mind 
loves to think that, perhaps, in Mr. Hayes’s back parlour the 
gallant Turpin might have hob-and-nobbed with Mrs. Catherine; 
that here, perhaps, the noble Sheppard might have cracked his 
joke, or quaffed his pint of rum. Who knows but that Macheath 
and Paul Clifford may have crossed legs under Hayes’s dinner-table 1 
But why pause to speculate on things that might have been 1 why 
desert reality for fond imagination, or call up from their honoured 
graves the sacred dead ? I know not : and yet, in sooth, I can 


613 


A CHEAP PLEASURE 

never pass Cumberland Gate without a sigh, as I think of the 
gallant cavaliers w ho traversed that road in old time. Pious priests 
accompanied their triumphs ; their chariots were surrounded by 
hosts of glittering javelin-men. As the slave at the car of the 
Roman conqueror shouted, “Remember thou art mortal!” before 
the eyes of the British warrior rode the undertaker and his coffin, 
telling him that he too must die ! Mark well the spot ! A hundred 
years ago Albion Street (where comic Power dwelt, Milesia’s darling 
son) — Albion Street was a desert. The square of Connaught was 
without its penultimate, and, strictly speaking, naught. The 
Edgware Road was then a road, ’tis true ; with tinkling waggons 
passing now and then, and fragrant walls of snowy hawthorn 
blossoms. The ploughman whistled over Nutford Place ; down the 
green solitudes of Sovereign Street the merry milkmaid led the 
lowing kine. Here, then, in the midst of green fields and sweet 
air — before ever omnibuses were, and when Pineapple Turnpike and 
Terrace were alike unknown — here stood Tyburn : and on the road 
towards it, perhaps to enjoy the prospect, stood, in the year 1725, 
the habitation of Mr. John Hayes. 

One fine morning in the year 1725, Mrs. Hayes, who had been 
abroad in her best hat and riding-hood; Mr. Hayes, who for a 
wonder had accompanied her ; and Mrs. Springatt, a lodger, who 
for a remuneration had the honour of sharing Mrs. Hayes’s friend- 
ship and table : all returned, smiling and rosy, at about half-past 
ten o’clock, from a walk which they had taken to Bayswater. 
Many thousands of people were likewise seen flocking down the 
Oxford Road ; and you would rather have thought, from the smart- 
ness of their appearance and the pleasure depicted in their counte- 
nances, that they were just issuing from a sermon, than quitting 
the ceremony which they had been to attend. 

The fact is, that they had just been to see a gentleman hanged, 
—a cheap pleasure, which the Hayes family never denied them- 
selves ; and they returned home with a good appetite to breakfast, 
braced by the walk, and tickled into hunger, as it were, by the 
spectacle. I can recollect, when I was a gyp at Cambridge, that 
the “ men ” used to have breakfast-parties for the very same pur- 
pose ; and the exhibition of the morning acted infallibly upon the 
stomach, and caused the young students to eat with much voracity. 

Well, Mrs. Catherine, a handsome, well-dressed, plump, rosy 
woman of three or four and thirty (and when, my dear, is a woman 
handsomer than at that age '?), came in quite merrily from her walk, 
and entered the back-parlour, which looked into a pleasant yard, or 
garden, whereon the sun was shining very gaily ; and where at a 
table covered with a nice white cloth, laid out with some silver 


614 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


mugs, too, and knives, all with different crests and patterns, sat an 
old gentleman reading in an old book. 

“ Here we are at last, Doctor,” said Mrs. Hayes, “ and here’s 
his speech.” She produced the little halfpenny tract, which to this 
day is sold at the gallows-foot upon the death of every offender. 
“ I’ve seen a many men turned off, to be sure ; but I never did see 
one who bore it more like a man than he did.” 

“My dear,” said the gentleman addressed as Doctor, “he was 
as cool and as brave as steel, and no more minded hanging than 
tooth-drawing.” 

“ It was the drink that ruined him,” said Mrs. Cat. 

“ Drink, and bad company. I warned him, my dear, — I warned 
him years ago : and directly he got into Wild’s gang, I knew that 
he had not a year to run. Ah, why, my love, will men continue 
such dangerous courses,” continued the Doctor, with a sigh, “and 
jeopardy their lives for a miserable watch or a snuffbox, of which 
Mr. Wild takes three-fourths of the produce 1 ? But here comes the 
breakfast ; and, egad, I am as hungry as a lad of twenty.” 

Indeed, at this moment Mrs. Hayes’s servant appeared with a 
smoking dish of bacon and greens ; and Mr. Hayes himself ascended 
from the cellar (of which he kept the key), bearing with him a 
tolerably large jug of small-beer. To this repast the Doctor, Mrs. 
Springatt (the other lodger), and Mr. and Mrs. Hayes proceeded 
with great alacrity. A fifth cover was laid, but not used ; the 
company remarking that “ Tom had very likely found some acquaint- 
ances at Tyburn, with whom he might choose to pass the morning.” 

Tom was Master Thomas Billings, now of the age of sixteen : 
slim, smart, five feet ten inches in height, handsome, sallow in com- 
plexion, black-eyed and black-haired. Mr. Billings was apprentice 
to a tailor, of tolerable practice, who was to take him into partner- 
ship at the end of his term. It was supposed, and with reason, 
that Tom would not fail to make a fortune in this business; of 
which the present head was one Beinkleider, a German. Beinkleider 
was skilful in his trade (after the manner of his nation, which in 
breeches and metaphysics — in inexpressibles and incomprehensibles 
— may instruct all Europe), but too fond of his pleasure. Some 
promissory notes of his had found their way into Hayes’s hands, 
and had given him the means not only of providing Master Billings 
with a cheap apprenticeship, and a cheap partnership afterwards ; 
but would empower him, in one or two years after the young partner 
had joined the firm, to eject the old one altogether. So that there 
was every prospect that, when Mr. Billings was twenty-one years 
of age, poor Beinkleider would have to act, not as his master, but 
his journeyman. 


MR. HAYES AND MR. BILLINGS 615 

Tom was a very precocious youth ; was supplied by a doting 
mother with plenty of pocket-money, and spent it with a number of 
lively companions of both sexes, at plays, bull-baitings, fairs, jolly 
parties on the river, and suchlike innocent amusements. He could 
throw a main, too, as well as his elders ; had pinked his man, in a 
row at Madam King’s in the Piazza ; and was much respected at 
the Roundhouse. 

Mr. Hayes was not very fond of this promising young gentle- 
man ; indeed, he had the baseness to bear malice, because, in a 
quarrel which occurred about two years previously, he, Hayes, being 
desirous to chastise Mr. Billings, had found himself not only quite 
incompetent, but actually at the mercy of the boy ; who struck him 
over the head with a joint-stool, felled him to the ground, and swore 
he would have his life. The Doctor, who was then also a lodger at 
Mr. Hayes’s, interposed, and restored the combatants, not to friend- 
ship, but to peace. Hayes never afterwards attempted to lift his 
hand to the young man, but contented himself with hating him 
profoundly. In this sentiment Mr. Billings participated cordially ; 
and, quite unlike Mr. Hayes, who never dared to show his dislike, 
used on every occasion when they met, by actions, looks, words, 
sneers, and curses, to let his stepfather know the opinion which he had 
of him. Why did not Hayes discard the boy altogether ? Because, if 
he did so, he was really afraid of his life, and because he trembled 
before Mrs. Hayes, his lady, as the leaf trembles before the tempest 
in October. His breath was not his own, but hers ; his money, 
too, had been chiefly of her getting,- — for though he was as stingy 
and mean as mortal man can be, and so likely to save much, he 
had not the genius for getting which Mrs. Hayes possessed. She 
kept his books (for she had learned to read and write by this time), 
she made his bargains, and she directed the operations of the poor- 
spirited little capitalist. When bills became due, and debtors 
pressed for time, then she brought Hayes’s own professional merits 
into play. The man was as deaf and cold as a rock; never did 
poor tradesmen gain a penny from him ; never were the bailiffs 
delayed one single minute from their prey. The Beinkleider busi- 
ness, for instance, showed pretty well the genius of the two. Hayes 
was for closing with him at once ; but his wife saw the vast profits 
which might be drawn out of him, and arranged the apprenticeship 
and the partnership before alluded to. The woman heartily scorned 
and spit upon her husband, who fawned upon her like a spaniel. 
She loved good cheer; she did not want for a certain kind of 
generosity. The only feeling that Hayes had for any one except 
himself was for his wife, whom he held in a cowardly awe and 
attachment: he liked drink, too, which made him chirping and 


6i6 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


merry, and accepted willingly any treats that his acquaintances 
might offer him ; but he would suffer agonies when his wife brought 
or ordered from the cellar a bottle of wine. 

And now for the Doctor. He was about seventy years of age. 
He had been much abroad ; he was of a sober, cheerful aspect ; he 
dressed handsomely and quietly in a broad hat and cassock ; but 
saw no company except the few friends whom he met at the coffee- 
house. He had an income of about one hundred pounds, which he 
promised to leave to young Billings. He was amused with the lad, and 
fond of his mother, and had boarded with them for some years past. 
The Doctor, in fact, was our old friend Corporal Brock, the Reverend 
Doctor Wood now, as he had been Major Wood fifteen years back. 

Any one who has read the former part of this history must have 
seen that we have spoken throughout with invariable respect of Mr. 
Brock ; and that in every circumstance in which he has appeared, he 
has acted not only with prudence, but often with genius. The early 
obstacle to Mr. Brock’s success was want of conduct simply. Drink, 
women, play — how many a brave fellow have they ruined ! — had 
pulled Brock down as often as his merit had carried him up. When 
a man’s passion for play has brought him to be a scoundrel, it at 
once ceases to be hurtful to him in a worldly point of view ; he 
cheats, and wins. It is only for the idle and luxurious that women 
retain their fascinations to a very late period ; and Brock’s passions 
had been whipped out of him in Virginia ; where much ill-health, 
ill-treatment, hard labour, and hard food, speedily put an end to 
them. He forgot there even how to drink ; rum or wine made this 
poor declining gentleman so ill that he could indulge in them no 
longer ; and so his three vices were cured. 

Had he been ambitious, there is little doubt but that Mr. Brock, 
on his return from transportation, might have risen in the world ; 
but he was old and a philosopher : he did not care about rising. 
Living was cheaper in those days, and interest for money higher : 
when he had amassed about six hundred pounds, he purchased an 
annuity of seventy-two pounds, and gave out— why should he not? 
— that he had the capital as well as the interest. After leaving the 
Hayes family in the country, he found them again in London : he 
took up his abode with them, and was attached to the mother and 
the son. Do you suppose that rascals have not affections like other 
people? hearts, madam — ay, hearts— and family ties which they 
cherish ? As the Doctor lived on with this charming family he 
began to regret that he had sunk all his money in annuities, and 
could not, as he repeatedly vowed he would, leave his savings to 
his adopted children. 

He felt an indescribable pleasure (“suave mari magno,” &c.) 


AN AFFECTIONATE FAMILY 6l7 

in watching the storms and tempests of the Hayes menage. He used 
to encourage Mrs. Catherine into anger wnen, haply, that lady’s fits 
of calm would last too long; he used to warm up the disputes 
between wife and husband, mother and son, and enjoy them 
beyond expression : they served him for daily amusement ; and he 
used to laugh until the tears ran down his venerable cheeks at the 
accounts which young Tom continually brought him of his pranks 
abroad, among watchmen and constables, at taverns or elsewhere. 

When, therefore, as the party were discussing their bacon and 
cabbage, before which the Reverend Doctor with much gravity said 
grace, Master Tom entered, Doctor Wood, who had before been 
rather gloomy, immediately brightened up, and made a place for 
Billings between himself and Mrs. Catherine. 

“How do, old cock?” said that young gentleman familiarly. 
“ How goes it, mother ? ” And so saying, he seized eagerly upon 
the jug of beer which Mr. Hayes had drawn, and from which the 
latter was about to help himself, and poured down his throat exactly 
one quart. 

“ Ah ! ” said Mr. Billings, drawing breath after a draught which 
he had learned accurately to gauge from the habit of drinking out 
of pewter measures which held precisely that quantity. — “ Ah ! ” 
said Mr. Billings, drawing breath, and wiping his mouth with his 
sleeves, “ this is very thin stuff, old Squaretoes ; but my coppers 
have been red-hot since last night, and they wanted a sluicing.” 

“ Should you like some ale, dear ? ” said Mrs. Hayes, that fond 
and judicious parent. 

“A quart of brandy, Tom?” said Doctor Wood. “Your papa 
will run down to the cellar for it in a minute.” 

“ I’ll see him hanged first ! ” cried Mr. Hayes, quite frightened. 

“ Oh, fie, now, you unnatural father ! ” said the Doctor. 

The very name of father used to put Mr. Hayes in a fury. 
“ I’m not his father, thank Heaven ! ” said he. 

“No, nor nobody else’s,” said Tom. 

Mr. Hayes only muttered “ Base-born brat ! ” 

“His father was a gentleman,- — that’s more than you ever 
were ! ” screamed Mrs. Hayes. “ His father was a man of spirit ; 
no cowardly sneak of a carpenter, Mr. Hayes ! Tom has noble 
blood in his veins, for all he has a tailor’s appearance ; and if his 
mother had had her right, she would be now in a coach-and six.” 

“ I wish I could find my father,” said Tom ; “ for I think 
Polly Briggs and I would look mighty well in a coach-and-six.” 
Tom fancied that if his father was a count at the time of his birth, 
he must be a prince now ; and, indeed, went among his companions 
by the latter august title. 


618 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


“ Ay, Tom, that you would,” cried his mother, looking at him 
fondly. 

“ With a sword by my side, and a hat and feather, there’s never 
a lord at St. James’s would cut a finer figure.” 

After a little more of this talk, in which Mrs. Hayes let the 
company know her high opinion of her son — who, as usual, took 
care to show his extreme contempt for his stepfather — the latter 
retired to his occupations; the lodger, Mrs. Springatt, who had 
never said a word all this time, retired to her apartment on the 
second floor; and, pulling out their pipes and tobacco, the old 
gentleman and the young one solaced themselves with half-an- hour’s 
more talk and smoking ; while the thrifty Mrs. Hayes, opposite to 
them, was busy with her books. 

“What’s in the confessions'?” said Mr. Billings to Doctor 
Wood. “ There were six of ’em besides Mac : two for sheep, four 
housebreakers ; but nothing of consequence, I fancy.” 

“ There’s the paper,” said Wood archly. “ Read for your- 
self, Tom.” 

Mr. Tom looked at the same time very fierce and very foolish ; 
for, though he could drink, swear, and fight as well as any lad of 
his inches in England, reading was not among his accomplishments. 

“ I tell you what, Doctor,” said he, “ you ! have no bantering 

with me, — for I’m not the man that will bear it, me ! ” and 

he threw a tremendous swaggering look across the table. 

“ I want you to learn to read, Tommy, dear. Look at your 
mother there over her books : she keeps them as neat as a scrivener 
now, and at twenty she could make never a stroke.” 

“ Your godfather speaks for your good, child ; and for me, thou 
knowest that I have promised thee a gold-headed cane and periwig on 
the first day that thou canst read me a column of the Flying Post .” j 

“ Hang the periwig ! ” said Mr. Tom testily. “ Let my god- 
father read the paper himself, if he has a liking for it.” 

Whereupon the old gentleman put on his spectacles, and glanced 
over the sheet of whity-brown paper, which, ornamented with a pic- j 
ture of a gallows at the top, contained the biographies of the seven 
unlucky individuals who had that morning suffered the penalty of the 
law. With the six heroes who came first in the list we have nothing 
to do ; but have before us a copy of the paper containing the life of 
No. 7, and which the Doctor read in an audible voice. 

“ Captain ijHacsljane* 

“ The seventh victim to his own crimes was the famous highway- 
man, Captain Macshane, so well known as the Irish Fire-eater. 















THE END OF ENSIGN MACSHANE 6lQ 

u The Captain came to the ground in a fine white lawn shirt 
and nightcap ; and, being a Papist in his religion, was attended 
by Father O’Flaherty, Popish priest, and chaplain to the Bavarian 
Envoy. 

“ Captain Macshane was born of respectable parents, in the 
town of Clonakilty, in Ireland, being descended from most of the 
kings in that country. He had the honour of serving their 
Majesties King William and Queen Mary, and Her Majesty Queen 
Anne, in Flanders and Spain, and obtained much credit from my 
Lords Marlborough and Peterborough for his valour. 

“ But being placed on half-pay at the end of the war, Ensign 
Macshane took to evil courses ; and, frequenting the bagnios and 
dice-houses, was speedily brought to ruin. 

“ Being at this pass, he fell in with the notorious Captain Wood, 
and they two together committed many atrocious robberies in the 
inland counties ; but these being too hot to hold them, they went 
into the west, where they were unknown. Here, however, the day 
of retribution arrived ; for, having stolen three pewter-pots from a 
public-house, they, under false names, were tried at Exeter, and trans- 
ported for seven years beyond the sea. Thus it is seen that Justice 
never sleeps ; but, sooner or latter, is sure to overtake the criminal. 

“On their return from Virginia, a quarrel about booty arose 
between these two, and Macshane killed Wood in a combat that 
took place between them near to the town of Bristol ; but a waggon 
coming up, Macshane was obliged to fly without the ill-gotten 
wealth : so true is it, that wickedness never prospers. 

“ Two days afterwards, Macshane met the coach of Miss Macraw, 
a Scotch lady and heiress, going, for lumbago and gout, to the Bath. 
He at first would have robbed this lady ; but such were his arts, 
that he induced her to marry him ; and they lived together for seven 
years in the town of Eddenboro, in Scotland, — he passing under 
the name of Colonel Geraldine. The lady dying, and Macshane having 
expended all her wealth, he was obliged to resume his former evil 
courses, in order to save himself from starvation; whereupon he 
robbed a Scotch lord, by name the Lord of Whistlebinkie, of a mull 
of snuff ; for which crime he was condemned to the Tolbooth prison 
at Eddenboro, in Scotland, and whipped many times in publick. 

“These deserved punishments did not at all alter Captain 
Macshane’s disposition; and on the 17th of February last, he 
stopped the Bavarian Envoy’s coach on Blackheath, coming from 
Dover, and robbed his Excellency and his chaplain ; taking from 
the former his money, watches, star, a fur-cloak, his sword (a very 
valuable one) ; and from the latter a Romish missal, out of which 
he was then reading, and a case-bottle.” 


6*20 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


“ The Bavarian Envoy ! ” said Tom parenthetically. “ My 
master, Beinkleider, was his Lordship’s regimental tailor in Ger- 
many, and is now making a Court suit for him. It will be a 
matter of a hundred pounds to him, I warrant.” 

Doctor Wood resumed his reading. “ Hum — hum ! A Romish 

missal, out of which he was reading, and a case-bottle. 

“ By means of the famous Mr. Wild, this notorious criminal 
was brought to justice, and the case-bottle and missal have been 
restored to Father O’Flaherty. 

“During his confinement in Newgate, Mr. Macshane could not 
be brought to express any contrition for his crimes, except that of 
having killed his commanding officer. For this Wood he pretended 
an excessive sorrow, and vowed that usquebaugh had been the cause 
of his death, — indeed, in prison he partook of no other liquor, and 
drunk a bottle of it on the day before his death. 

“ He was visited by several of the clergy and gentry in his cell ; 
among others, by the Popish priest whom he had robbed, Father 
O’ Flaherty, before mentioned, who attended him likewise in his 
last moments (if that idolatrous worship may be called attention) ; 
and likewise by the Father’s patron, the Bavarian Ambassador, his 
Excellency Count Maximilian de Galgenstein.” 

As old Wood came to these words, he paused to give them 
utterance. 

“ What ! Max 1 ” screamed Mrs. Hayes, letting her ink-bottle 
fall over her ledgers. 

“ Why, be hanged if it ben’t my father ! ” said Mr. Billings. 

“ Your father, sure enough, unless there be others of his name, 
and unless the scoundrel is hanged,” said the Doctor — sinking his 
voice, however, at the end of the sentence. 

Mr. Billings broke his pipe in an agony of joy. “I think 
we’ll have the coach now, mother,” says he; “and I’m blessed 
if Polly Briggs shall not look as fine as a duchess.” 

“ Polly Briggs is a low slut, Tom, and not fit for the likes of 
you, his Excellency’s son. Oh, fie ! You must be a gentleman 
now, sirrah; and I doubt whether I shan’t take you away from 
that odious tailor’s shop altogether.” 

To this proposition Mr. Billings objected altogether ; for, besides 
Mrs. Briggs before alluded to, the young gentleman was much at- 
tached to his master’s daughter, Mrs. Margaret Gretel, or Gretchen 
Beinkleider. 

“No,” says he. “There will be time to think of that here- 
after, ma’am. If my pa makes a man of me, why, of course, the 


EXCITING INTELLIGENCE 621 

shop may go to the deuce, for what I care ; but we had better 
wait, look you, for something certain before we give up such a 
pretty bird in the hand as this.” 

“ He speaks like Solomon,” said the Doctor. 

“ I always said he would be a credit to his old mother, didn’t 
I, Brock ? ” cried Mrs. Cat, embracing her son very affectionately. 
“ A credit to her ; ay, I warrant, a real blessing ! And dost thou 
want any money, Tom 1 for a lord’s son must not go about without 
a few pieces in his pocket. And I tell thee, Tommy, thou must 
go and see his Lordship ; and thou shalt have a piece of brocade 
for a waistcoat, thou shalt ; ay, and the silver-hilted sword I told thee 
of ; but 0 Tommy, Tommy ! have a care, and don’t be a-drawing 
of it in naughty company at the gaming-houses, or at the ” 

“ A drawing of fiddlesticks, mother ! If I go to see my father, 
I must have a reason for it ; and instead of going with a sword in 
my hand, I shall take something else in it.” 

“The lad is a lad of nous,” cried Doctor Wood, “although his 
mother does spoil him so cruelly. Look you, Madam Cat : did you 
not hear what he said about Beinkleider and the clothes 1 Tommy 
will just wait on the Count with his Lordship’s breeches. A man 
may learn a deal of news in the trying on of a pair of breeches.” 

And so it was agreed that in this manner the son should at first 
make his appearance before his father. Mrs. Cat gave him the 
piece of brocade, which, in the course of the day, was fashioned into 
a smart waistcoat (for Beinkleider’s shop was close by, in Cavendish 
Square). Mrs. Gretel, with many blushes, tied a fine blue riband 
round his neck ; and, in a pair of silk stockings, with gold buckles 
to his shoes, Master Billings looked a very proper young gentleman. 

“And, Tommy,” said his mother, blushing and hesitating, 
“ should Max — should his Lordship ask after your — want to know 
if your mother is alive, you can say she is, and well, and often 
talks of old times. And, Tommy” (after another pause), “you 
needn’t say anything about Mr. Hayes ; only say I’m quite well.” 

Mrs. Hayes looked at him as he marched down the street, a 
long, long way. Tom was proud and gay in his new costume, and 
was not unlike his father. As she looked, lo ! Oxford Street 
disappeared, and she saw a green common, and a village, and a 
little inn. There was a soldier leading a pair of horses about on 
the green common; and in the inn sat a cavalier, so young, so 
merry, so beautiful ! Oh, what slim white hands he had ; and 
winning words, and tender, gentle blue eyes ! Was it not an 
honour to a country lass that such a noble gentleman should look 
at her for a moment 1 Had he not some charm about him that she 
must needs obey when he whispered in her ear, “ Come, follow me ! ” 


622 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


As she walked towards the lane that morning, how well she remem- 
bered each spot as she passed it, and the look it wore for the last 
time ! How the smoke was rising from the pastures, how the fish 
were jumping and plashing in the mill stream ! There was the 
church, with all its windows lighted up with gold, and yonder were 
the reapers sweeping down the brown corn. She tried to sing as 
she went up the hill — what was it ? She could not remember ; but 
oh, how well she remembered the sound of the horse’s hoofs, as 
they came quicker, quicker — nearer, nearer ! How noble he looked 
on his great horse ! Was he thinking of her, or were they all silly 
words which he spoke last night* merely to pass away the time and 
deceive poor girls with? Would he remember them, — would he? 

“Cat, my dear,” here cried Mr. Brock, alias Captain, alias 
Doctor Wood, “here’s the meat a-getting cold, and I am longing 
for my breakfast.” 

As they went in he looked her hard in the face. “ What, still 
at it, you silly girl ? I’ve been watching you these five minutes, 
Cat ; and be hanged but I think a word from Galgenstein, and you 
would follow him as a fly does a treacle-pot ! ” 

They went in to breakfast ; but though there was a hot shoulder 
of mutton and onion-sauce — Mrs. Catherine’s favourite dish — she 
never touched a morsel of it. 

In the meanwhile Mr. Thomas Billings, in his new clothes 
which his mamma had given him, in his new riband which the 
fair Miss Beinkleider had tied round his neck, and having his 
Excellency’s breeches wrapped in a silk handkerchief in his right 
hand, turned down in the direction of Whitehall, where the Bavarian 
Envoy lodged. But, before he waited on him, Mr. Billings, being 
excessively pleased with his personal appearance, made an early 
visit to Mrs. Briggs, who lived in the neighbourhood of Swallow 
Street; and who, after expressing herself with much enthusiasm 
regarding her Tommy’s good looks, immediately asked him what he 
would stand to drink? Raspberry gin being suggested, a pint of 
that liquor was sent for ; and so great was the confidence and inti- 
macy subsisting between these two young people, that the reader 
will be glad to hear that Mrs. Polly accepted every shilling of the 
money which Tom Billings had received from his mamma the day 
before ; nay, could with difficulty be prevented from seizing upon 
the cut- velvet breeches which he was carrying to the nobleman for 
whom they were made. Having paid his adieux to Mrs. Polly, Mr. 
Billings departed to visit his father. 


CHAPTER IX 


INTERVIEW BETWEEN COUNT GALGENSTEIN AND MASTER 
THOMAS BILLINGS, WHEN HE INFORMS THE COUNT OF 
HIS PARENTAGE 

I DON’T know in all this miserable world a more miserable spec- 
tacle than that of a young fellow of five or six and forty. The 
British army, that nursery of valour, turns out many of the 
young fellows I mean : who, having flaunted in dragoon uniforms 
from seventeen to six-and-thirty ; having bought, sold, or swapped 
during that period some two hundred horses; having played, say, 
fifteen thousand games at billiards ; having drunk some six thousand 
bottles of wine; having consumed a reasonable number of Nugee 
coats, split many dozen pairs of high-heeled Hoby boots, and read 
the newspaper and the army-list duly, retire from the service when 
they have attained their eighth lustre, and saunter through the 
world, trailing from London to Cheltenham, and from Boulogne to 
Paris, and from Paris to Baden, their idleness, their ill-health, and 
their ennui. “In the morning of youth,” and when seen along 
with whole troops of their companions, these flowers look gaudy 
and brilliant enough ; but there is no object more dismal than one 
of them alone, and in its autumnal, or seedy state. My friend, 
Captain Popjoy, is one who has arrived at this condition, and 
whom everybody knows by his title of Father Pop. A kinder, 
simpler, more empty-headed fellow does not exist. He is forty- 
seven years old, and appears a young, good-looking man of sixty. 
At the time of the Army of Occupation he really was as good- 
looking a man as any in the Dragoons. He now uses all sorts of 
stratagems to cover the bald place on his head, by combing certain 
thin grey side-locks over it. He has, in revenge, a pair of enormous 
moustaches, which he dyes of the richest blue-black. His nose is 
a good deal larger and redder than it used to be ; his eyelids have 
grown flat and heavy; and a little pair of red, watery eyeballs 
float in the midst of them : it seems as if the light which was once 
in those sickly green pupils had extravasated into the white part 
of the eye. If Pop’s legs are not so firm and muscular as they 
used to be in those days when he took such leaps into White’s 


624 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


buckskins, in revenge bis waist is much larger. He wears a very 
good coat, however, and a waistband, which he lets out after dinner. 
Before ladies he blushes, and is as silent as a schoolboy. He calls 
them “ modest women.” His society is chiefly among young lads 
belonging to his former profession. He knows the best wine to 
be had at each tavern or caf 6, and the waiters treat him with much 
respectful familiarity. He knows the names of every one of them ; 
and shouts out, “ Send Markwell here ! ” or, “ Tell Cuttriss to give 
us a bottle of the yellow seal ! ” or, “ Dizzy voo, Monsure Borrel, 
noo donny shampang frappy,” &c. He always makes the salad or 
the punch, and dines out three hundred days in the year : the other 
days you see him in a two-franc eating-house at Paris, or prowling 
about Rupert Street, or St. Martin’s Court, where you get a capital 
cut of meat for eightpence. He has decent lodgings and scrupu- 
lously clean linen; his animal functions are still tolerably well 
preserved, his spiritual have evaporated long since ; he sleeps well, 
has no conscience, believes himself to be a respectable fellow, and is 
tolerably happy on the days when he is asked out to dinner. 

Poor Pop is not very high in the scale of created beings ; but, if 
you fancy there is none lower, you are in egregious error. There was 
once a man who had a mysterious exhibition of an animal, quite un- 
known to naturalists, called “ the wusser.” Those curious individuals 
who desired to see the wusser were introduced into an apartment 
where appeared before them nothing more than a little lean shrivelled 
hideous blear-eyed mangy pig. Every one cried out “ Swindle ! ” and 
“ Shame ! ” “ Patience, gentlemen, be heasy,” said the showman : 
“ look at that there hanimal ; it’s a perfect phenomaly of hugli- 
ness : I engage you never see such a pig.” Nobody ever had seen. 
“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “I’ll keep my promise, has per bill; 
and bad as that there pig is, look at this here ” (he showed another). 
“ Look at this here, and you’ll see at once that it’s a wusser .” In 
like manner the Popjoy breed is bad enough, but it serves only to 
show off the Galgenstein race ; which is wusser. 

Galgen stein had led a very gay life, as the saying is, for the last 
fifteen years ; such a gay one, that he had lost all capacity of enjoy- 
ment by this time, and only possessed inclinations without powers 
of gratifying them. He had grown to be exquisitely curious and 
fastidious about meat and drink, for instance, and all that he wanted 
was an appetite. He carried about with him a French cook, who 
could not make him eat ; a doctor, who could not make him well ; a 
mistress, of whom he was heartily sick after two days ; a priest, who 
had been a favourite of the exemplary Dubois, and by turns used to 
tickle him by the imposition of penance, or by the repetition of a tale 
from the recueil of Nocd, or La Fare. All his appetites were wasted 


AN AMBASSADOR AND HIS CHAPLAIN 625 

and worn ; only some monstrosity would galvanise them into momen- 
tary action. He was in that effete state to which many noblemen of 
his time had arrived ; who were ready to believe in ghost-raising or in 
gold-making, or to retire into monasteries and wear hair-shirts, or to 
dabble in conspiracies, or to die in love with little cook-maids of 
fifteen, or to pine for the smiles or at the frowns of a prince of the 
blood, or to go mad at the refusal of a chamberlain’s key. The last 
gratification he remembered to have enjoyed was that of riding bare- 
headed in a soaking rain for three hours by the side of his Grand 
Duke’s mistress’s coach ; taking the pas of Count Krahwinkel, who 
challenged him, and was run through the body for this very dispute. 
Galgenstein gained a rheumatic gout by it, which put him to tortures 
for many months ; and was further gratified with the post of English 
Envoy. He had a fortune, he asked no salary, and could look the 
envoy very well. Father O’Flaherty did all the duties, and further- 
more acted as a spy over the ambassador — a sinecure post, for the 
man had no feelings, wishes, or opinions — absolutely none. 

“Upon my life, father,” said this worthy man, “I care for 
nothing. You have been talking for an hour about the Regent’s 
death, and the Duchess of Phalaris, and sly old Fleury, and what 
not ; and I care just as much as if you told me that one of my 
bauers at Galgenstein had killed a pig; or as if my lacquey, La 
Rose yonder, had made love to my mistress.” 

“ He does ! ” said the reverend gentleman. 

“ Ah, Monsieur l’Abbd ! ” said La Rose, who was arranging 
his master’s enormous Court periwig, “ you are, hdlas ! wrong. 
Monsieur le Comte will not be angry at my saying that I wish 
the accusation were true.” 

The Count did not take the slightest notice of La Rose’s wit, 
but continued his own complaints. 

“I tell you, Abbd, I care for nothing. I lost a thousand 
guineas t’other night at basset; I wish to my heart I could have 
been vexed about it. Egad ! I remember the day when to lose a 
hundred made me half mad for a month. Well, next day I had 
my revenge at dice, and threw thirteen mains. There was some 
delay ; a call for fresh bones, I think ; and — would you believe it ] 
— I fell asleep with the box in my hand ! ” 

“ A desperate case, indeed,” said the Abb A 

“ If it had not been for Krahwinkel, I should have been a dead 
man, that’s positive. That pinking him saved me.” 

“ I make no doubt of it,” said the Abbd. “ Had your Excel- 
lency not run him through, he, without a doubt, would have done 
the same for you.” 

“ Psha ! you mistake my words, Monsieur l’Abb^ ” (yawning). 


626 


CATHERINE: A STORY 

“ I mean — what cursed chocolate ! — that I was dying for want of 
excitement. Not that I cared for dying; no, d me if I do ! ” 

“ When you do, your Excellency means,” said the Abb£, a fat 
grey-haired Irishman, from the Irlandois College at Paris. 

His Excellency did not laugh, nor understand jokes of any 
kind ; he was of an undeviating stupidity, and only replied, “ Sir, 
I mean what I say. I don’t care for living : no, nor for dying 
either ; but I can speak as well as another, and I’ll thank you not 
to be correcting my phrases as if I were one of your cursed school- 
boys, and not a gentleman of fortune and blood.” 

Herewith the Count, who had uttered four sentences about 
himself (he never spoke of anything else), sunk back on his pillows 
again, quite exhausted by his eloquence. The Abbd, who had a seat 
and a table by the bedside, resumed the labours which had brought 
him into the room in the morning, and busied himself with papers, 
which occasionally he handed over to his superior for approval. 

Presently Monsieur la Rose appeared. 

“ Here is a person with clothes from Mr. Beinkleider’s. Will 
your Excellency see him, or shall I bid him leave the clothes 'i ” 

The Count was very much fatigued by this time ; he had signed 
three papers, and read the first half-a-dozen lines of a pair of them. 

“Bid the fellow come in, La Rose; and, hark ye, give me my wig: 
one must show one’s self to be a gentleman before these scoundrels.” 
And he therefore mounted a large chestnut-coloured, orange-scented 
pyramid of horsehair, which was to awe the new-comer. 

He was a lad of about seventeen, in a smart waistcoat and a 
blue riband : our friend Tom Billings, indeed. He carried under 
his arm the Count’s destined breeches. He did not seem in the 
least awed, however, by his Excellency’s appearance, but looked at 
him with a great degree of curiosity and boldness. In the same 
manner he surveyed the chaplain, and then nodded to him with a 
kind look of recognition. 

“ Where have I seen the lad ? ” said the father. “ Oh, I have 
it ! My good friend, you were at the hanging yesterday, I think 'l ” 

Mr. Billings gave a very significant nod with his head. “ I 
never miss,” said he. 

“ What a young Turk ! And pray, sir, do you go for pleasure, 
or for business 1 ” 

“ Business ! what do you mean by business ? ” 

“ Oh, I did not know whether you might be brought up to the 
trade, or your relations be undergoing the operation.” 

“My relations,” said Mr. Billings proudly, and staring the 
Count full in the face, “ was not made • for no such thing. I’m a 
tailor now, but I’m a gentleman’s son : as good a man, ay, as his 


RECOGNITION AND RECOLLECTION 627 

lordship there : for you a’n’t his lordship — you’re the Popish priest, 
you are ; and we were very near giving you a touch of a few 
Protestant stones, master.” 

The Count began to be a little amused : he was pleased to see 
the Abb£ look alarmed, or even foolish. 

“Egad, Abb£,” said he, “you turn as white as a sheet.” 

“ I don’t fancy being murdered, my Lord,” said the Abb4 hastily ; 
“ and murdered for a good work. It was but to be useful to yonder 
poor Irishman, who saved me as a prisoner in Flanders, when 
Marlborough would have hung me up like poor Macshane himself 
was yesterday.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Count, bursting out with some energy, “ I was 
thinking who the fellow could be, ever since he robbed me on the 
Heath. I recollect the scoundrel now : he was a second in a duel I 
had here in the year six.” 

“Along with Major Wood, behind Montague House,” said Mr. 
Billings. “ /’ve heard on it.” And here he looked more knowing 
than ever. 

“ You !” cried the Count, more and more surprised. “ And 
pray who the devil are you ! ” 

“ My name’s Billings.” 

“Billings!” said the Count. 

“I come out of Warwickshire,” said Mr. Billings. 

“ Indeed ! ” 

“ I was born at Birmingham town.” 

“Were you, really ! ” 

“ My mother’s name was Hayes,” continued Billings, in a solemn 
voice. “I was put out to nurse along with John Billings, a black- 
smith ; and my father run away. Now do you know who I am 1 ” 

“ Why, upon honour, now,” said the Count, who was amused, — 
“ upon honour, Mr. Billings, I have not that advantage.” 

“Well, then, my Lord, you! re my father /” 

Mr. Billings when he said this came forward to the Count with 
a theatrical air ; and, flinging down the breeches of which he was 
the bearer, held out his arms and stared, having very little doubt 
but that his Lordship would forthwith spring out of bed and hug 
him to his heart. A similar piece of naivete many fathers of 
families have, I have no doubt, remarked in their children ; who, 
not caring for their parents a single doit, conceive, nevertheless, that 
the latter are bound to show all sorts of affection for them. His 
lordship did move, but backwards towards the wall, and began pulling 
at the bell-rope with an expression of the most intense alarm. 

“Keep back, sirrah! — keep back! Suppose l am your father, 
do you want to murder me ? Good heavens ! how the boy smells 


62 8 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


of gin and tobacco ! Don’t turn away, my lad ; sit down there at a 
proper distance. And, La Rose, give him some eau-de-cologne, and 
get a cup of coffee. Well, now, go on with your story. Egad, my 
dear Abb£, I think it is very likely that what the lad says is true.” 

“If it is a family conversation,” said the Abbd, “ I had better 
leave you.” 

“ Oh, for Heaven’s sake, no ! I could not stand the boy alone. 
Now, Mister ah! — What’s-your-name ? Have the goodness to tell 
your story.” 

Mr. Billings was woefully disconcerted ; for his mother and he 
had agreed that as soon as his father saw him he would be recognised 
at once, and, mayhap, made heir to the estates and title ; in which 
being disappointed, he very sulkily went on with his narrative, and 
detailed many of those events with which the reader has already 
been made acquainted. The Count asked the boy’s mother’s 
Christian name, and being told it, his memory at once returned 
to him. 

“ What ! are you little Cat’s son ? ” said his Excellency. “ By 
heavens, mon cher Abbd, a charming creature, but a tigress — 
positively a tigress. I recollect the whole affair now. She’s a 
little fresh black-haired woman, a’n’t she 1 ? with a sharp nose and 
thick eyebrows, ay ? Ah yes, yes ! ” went on my Lord, “ I recollect 
her, I recollect her. It was at Birmingham I first met her : she 
was my Lady Trippet’s woman, wasn’t she ? ” 

“ She was no such thing,” said Mr. Billings hotly. “ Her aunt 
kept the ‘ Bugle Inn ’ on Waltham Green, and your Lordship 
seduced her.” 

“ Seduced her ! Oh, ’gad, so I did. Stap me, now, I did. 
Yes, I made her jump on my black horse, and bore her off like 
— like iEneas bore his wife away from the siege of Rome ! hey, 
l’Abbd?” 

“The events were precisely similar,” said the AbbA “It is 
wonderful what a memory you have ! ” 

“ I was always remarkable for it,” continued his Excellency. 
“ Well, where was I, — at the black horse ? Yes, at the black 
horse. Well, I mounted her on the black horse, and rode her en 
croupe, egad — ha, ha ! — to Birmingham ; and there we billed and 
cooed together like a pair of turtle-doves : yes — ha ! — that we did ! ” 

“ And this, I suppose, is the end of some of the billings ? ” said 
the Abb£, pointing to Mr. Tom. 

“Billings! what do you mean? Yes — oh — ah — a pun, a 
calembourg. Fi done, M. 1’AbbA” And then, after the wont of 
very stupid people, M. de Galgenstein went on to explain to the 
Abb£ his own pun. “ Well, but to proceed,” cries he. “We lived 


FATHER AND SON 


629 

together at Birmingham, and I was going to be married to a rich 
heiress, egad ! when what do you think this little Cat does ? She 
murders me, egad ! and makes me manquer the marriage. Twenty 
thousand, I think it was ; and I wanted the money in those days. 
Now, wasn’t she an abominable monster, that mother of yours, hey, 
Mr. a — What’s-your-name ? ” 

“ She served you right ! ” said Mr. Billings, with a great oath, 
starting up out of all patience. 

“Fellow ! ” said his Excellency, quite aghast, “do you know to 
whom you speak ? — to a nobleman of seventy-eight descents ; a 
count of the Holy Roman Empire ; a representative of a sovereign ? 
Ha, egad ! Don’t stamp, fellow, if you hope for my protection.” 

“ D — n your protection ! ” said Mr. Billings in a fury. “ Curse 

you and your protection too ! I’m a free-born Briton, and no 

French Papist ! And any man who insults my mother — ay, or calls 
me feller — had better look to himself and the two eyes in his head, 
I can tell him ! ” And with this Mr. Billings put himself into the 
most approved attitude of the Cockpit, and invited his father, the 
reverend gentleman, and Monsieur la Rose the valet, to engage with 
him in a pugilistic encounter. The two latter, the Abb£ especially, 
seemed dreadfully frightened ; but the Count now looked on with 
much interest ; and, giving utterance to a feeble kind of chuckle, 
which lasted for about half a minute, said — 

“ Paws off, Pompey ! You young hangdog, you — egad, yes, 
aha ! ’pon honour, you’re a lad of spirit ; some of your father’s 
spunk in you, hey % I know him by that oath. Why, sir, when I 
was sixteen, I used to swear — to swear, egad, like a Thames water- 
man, and exactly in this fellow’s way ! Buss me, my lad ; no, kiss 
my hand. That will do ” — and he held out a very lean yellow hand, 
peering from a pair of yellow ruffles. It shook very much, and 
the shaking made all the rings upon it shine only the more. 

“ Well,” says Mr. Billings, “ if you wasn’t a-going to abuse me nor 
mother, I don’t care if I shake hands with you. I ain’t proud ! ” 

The Abb<3 laughed with great glee ; and that very evening sent 
off to his Court a most ludicrous spicy description of the whole 
scene of meeting between this amiable father and child ; in which 
he said that young Billings was the eleve favori of M. Kitch, Ecuyer, 
le bourreau de Londres, and which made the Duke’s mistress laugh 
so much that she vowed that the Abb£ should have a bishopric on 
his return : for, with such store of wisdom, look you, my son, was 
the world governed in those days. 

The Count and his offspring meanwhile conversed with some 
cordiality. The former informed the latter of all the diseases to 
which he was subject, his manner of curing them, his great con- 


630 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


sideration as chamberlain to the Duke of Bavaria ; how he wore his 
Court suits, and of a particular powder which he had invented for 
the hair ; how, when he was seventeen, he had run away with a 
canoness, egad ! who was afterwards locked up in a convent, and 
grew to be sixteen stone in weight ; how he remembered the 
time when ladies did not wear patches ; and how the Duchess of 
Marlborough boxed his ears when he was so high, because he wanted 
to kiss her. 

All these important anecdotes took some time in the telling, and 
were accompanied by many profound moral remarks ; such as, “I 
can’t abide garlic, nor white-wine, stap me ! nor Sauerkraut, though 
his Highness eats half a bushel per day. I ate it the first time at 
Court ; but when they brought it me a second time, I refused — 
refused, split me and grill me if I didn’t ! Everybody stared ; his 
Highness looked as fierce as a Turk ; and that infernal Krahwinkel 
(my dear, I did for him afterwards) — that cursed Krahwinkel, I 
say, looked as pleased as possible, and whispered to Countess 
Fritsch, £ Blitzchen, Frau Grafinn,’ says he, ‘it’s all over with 
Galgenstein.’ What did I do? I had the entree , and demanded 
it. ‘ Altesse,’ says I, falling on one knee, £ I ate no kraut at dinner 
to-day. You remarked it : I saw your Highness remark it.’ 

“ £ 1 did, M. le Comte,’ said his Highness gravely. 

“ I had almost tears in my eyes ; but it was necessary to come 
to a resolution, you know. ‘ Sir,’ said I, £ I speak with deep grief 
to your Highness, who are my benefactor, my friend, my father ; 
but of this I am resolved, I will never eat Sauerkraut more : 
it don’t agree with me. After being laid up for four weeks by the 
last dish of Sauerkraut of which I partook, I may say with con- 
fidence — it don't agree with me. By impairing my health, it 
impairs my intellect, and weakens my strength ; and both I would 
keep for your Highness’s service.’ 

££ £ Tut, tut ! ’ said his Highness. £ Tut, tut, tut ! ’ Those were 
his very words. 

££ £ Give me my sword or my pen,’ said I. £ Give me my sword 
or my pen, and with these Maximilian de Galgenstein is ready 
to serve you; but sure, — sure, a great prince will pity the weak 
health of a faithful subject, who does not know how to eat Sauer- 
kraut ? ’ His Highness was walking about the room : I was still 
on my knees, and stretched forward my hand to seize his coat. 

££ £ Geht zum Teufel, sir ! ’ said he, in a loud voice (it means 
£ Go to the deuce,’ my dear), — £ Geht zum Teufel, and eat what you 
like ! ’ With this he went out of the room abruptly ; leaving in 
my hand one of his buttons, which I keep to this day. As soon 
as I was alone, amazed by his great goodness and bounty, I sobbed 


MR. BILLINGS MYSTIFIED 631 

aloud — cried like a child” (the Count’s eyes filled and winked at 
the very recollection), “ and when I went back into the card-room, 
stepping up to Krahwinkel, ‘ Count,’ says I, ‘ who looks foolish 

now 1 ?’ — Hey there, La Rose, give me the diamond Yes, 

that was the very pun I made, and very good it was thought. 
‘ Krahwinkel,’ says I, ‘ who looks foolish now l ’ and from that day 
to this I was never at a Court-day asked to eat Sauerkraut — 
never ! 

“ Hey there, La Rose ! Bring me that diamond snuffbox in 
the drawer of my secretaire ; ” and the snuffbox was brought. 
“ Look at it, my dear,” said the Count, “ for I saw you seemed to 
doubt. There is the button — the very one that came off his 
Grace’s coat.’ 

Mr. Billings received it, and twisted it about with a stupid air. 
The story had quite mystified him; for he did not dare yet to 
think his father was a fool — his respect for the aristocracy pre- 
vented him. 

When the Count’s communications had ceased, which they 
did as soon as the story of the Sauerkraut was finished, a silence 
of some minutes ensued. Mr. Billings was trying to comprehend 
the circumstances above narrated ; his Lordship was exhausted ; 
the chaplain had quitted the room directly the word Sauerkraut 
was mentioned — he knew what was coming. His Lordship looked 
for some time at his son ; who returned the gaze with his mouth 
wide open. “Well,” said the Count — “well, sir 1 ? What are you 
sitting there for 1 If you have nothing to say, sir, you had better 
go. I had you here to amuse me — split me — and not to sit there 
staring ! ” 

Mr. Billings rose in a fury. 

“ Hark ye, my lad,” said the Count, “tell La Rose to give thee 
five guineas, and, ah— come again some morning. A nice well- 
grown young lad,” mused the Count, as Master Tommy walked 
wondering out of the apartment; “a pretty fellow enough, and 
intelligent too.” 

“ Well, he is an odd fellow, my father,” thought Mr. Billings, 
as he walked out, having received the sum offered to him. And he 
immediately went to call upon his friend Polly Briggs, from whom 
he had separated in the morning. 

What was the result of their interview is not at all necessary to 
the progress of this history. Having made her, however, acquainted 
with the particulars of his visit to his father, he went to his 
mother’s, and related to her all that had occurred. 

Poor thing, she was very differently interested in the issue 
of it ! 


CHAPTER X 


SHOWING HOW GALGEN STEIN AND MRS. CAT RECOGNISE EACH 
OTHER IN MARYLEBONE GARDENS— AND HOW THE COUNT 
DRIVES HER HOME IN HIS CARRIAGE 

TOUT a month after the touching conversation above related, 



there was given, at Marylebone Gardens, a grand concert and 


* * entertainment, at which the celebrated Madame Amdnaide, 

a dancer of the theatre at Paris, was to perform, under the patron- 
age of several English and foreign noblemen ; among whom was his 
Excellency the Bavarian Envoy. Madame Am^naide was, in fact, 
no other than the maitresse en titre of the Monsieur de Galgenstein, 
who had her a great bargain from the Duke de Rohan-Chabot at 


Paris. 


It is not our purpose to make a great and learned display here, 
otherwise the costumes of the company assembled at this fete might 
afford scope for at least half-a-dozen pages of fine writing ; and we 
might give, if need were, specimens of the very songs and music 
sung on the occasion. Does not the Burney collection of music, 
at the British Museum, afford one an ample store of songs from 
which to choose? Are there not the memoirs of Colley Cibber? 
those of Mrs. Clark, the daughter of Colley? Is there not Con- 
greve, and Farquhar — nay, and at a pinch, the “ Dramatic Bio- 
graphy,” or even the Spectator , from which the observant genius 
might borrow passages, and construct pretty antiquarian figments ? 
Leave we these trifles to meaner souls ! Our business is not with 
the breeches and periwigs, with the hoops and patches, but with 
the divine hearts of men, and the passions which agitate them. 
What need, therefore, have we to say that on this evening, after 
the dancing, the music, and the fireworks, Monsieur de Galgenstein 
felt the strange and welcome pangs of appetite, and was picking 
a cold chicken, along with some other friends in an arbour — a cold 
chicken, with an accompaniment of a bottle of champagne — when he 
was led to remark that a very handsome plump little person, in 
a gorgeous stiff damask gown and petticoat, was sauntering up and 
down the walk running opposite his supping-place, and bestowing 
continual glances towards his Excellency. The lady, whoever she 


THE COUNT AT MARYLEBONE GARDENS 633 

was, was in a mask, such as ladies of high and low fashion wore 
at public places in those days, and had a male companion. He 
was a lad of only seventeen, marvellously well dressed — indeed, no 
other than the Count’s own son, Mr. Thomas Billings ; who had at 
length received from his mother the silver-hilted sword, and the 
wig, which that affectionate parent had promised to him. 

In the course of the month which had elapsed since the interview 
that has been described in the former chapter, Mr. Billings had 
several times had occasion to wait on his father; but though he 
had, according to her wishes, frequently alluded to the existence 
of his mother, the Count had never at any time expressed the 
slightest wish to renew his acquaintance with that lady : who, if 
she had seen him, had only seen him by stealth. 

The fact is, that after Billings had related to her the particulars 
of his first meeting with his Excellency, which ended, like many 
of the latter visits, in nothing at all, Mrs. Hayes had found some 
pressing business, which continually took her to Whitehall, and 
had been prowling from day to day about Monsieur de Galgenstein’s 
lodgings. Four or five times in the week, as his Excellency stepped 
into his coach, he might have remarked, had he chosen, a woman 
in a black hood, who was looking most eagerly into his eyes : but 
those eyes had long since left off the practice of observing; and 
Madam Catherine’s visits had so far gone for nothing. 

On this night, however, inspired by gaiety and drink, the Count 
had been amazingly stricken by the gait and ogling of the lady in 
the mask. The Reverend O’Flaherty, who was with him, and had 
observed the figure in the black cloak, recognised, or thought he 
recognised her. “It is the woman who dogs your Excellency every 
day,” said he. “ She is with that tailor lad who loves to see people 
hanged — your Excellency’s son, I mean.” And he was just about 
to warn the Count of a conspiracy evidently made against him, and 
that the son had brought, most likely, the mother to play her arts 
upon him — he was just about, I say, to show to the Count the 
folly and danger of renewing an old liaison with a woman such as 
he had described Mrs. Cat to be, when his Excellency, starting up, 
and interrupting his ghostly adviser at the very beginning of his 
sentence, said, “ Egad, l’Abbd, you are right — it is my son, and a 
mighty smart-looking creature with him. Hey ! Mr. What’s-your- 
name — Tom, you rogue, don’t you know your own father 1” And 
so saying, and cocking his beaver on one side, Monsieur de Galgen- 
stein strutted jauntily after Mr. Billings and the lady. 

It was the first time that the Count had formally recognised 
his son. 

“Tom, you rogue,” stopped at this, and the Count came up. 


634 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


He had a white velvet suit, covered over with stars and orders, a 
neat modest wig and bag, and peach-coloured silk stockings with 
silver clasps. The lady in the mask gave a start as his Excellency 
came forward. “Law, mother, don’t squeege so,” said Tom. The 
poor woman was trembling in every limb ; but she had presence 
of mind to “squeege” Tom a great deal harder; and the latter took 
the hint, I suppose, and was silent. 

The splendid Count came up. Ye gods, how his embroidery 
glittered in the lamps ! What a royal exhalation of musk and 
bergamot came from his wig, his handkerchief, and his grand lace 
ruffles and frills ! A broad yellow riband passed across his breast, 
and ended at his hip in a shining diamond cross — a diamond cross, 
and a diamond sword-hilt ! Was anything ever seen so beautiful ? 
And might not a poor woman tremble when such a noble creature 
drew near to her, and deigned, from the height of his rank and 
splendour, to look down upon her ? As Jove came down to Semele 
in state, in his habits of ceremony, with all the grand cordons of his 
orders blazing about his imperial person — thus dazzling, magnificent, 
triumphant, the great Galgenstein descended towards Mrs. Catherine. 
Her cheeks glowed red-hot under her coy velvet mask, her heart 
thumped against the whalebone prison of her stays. What a delicious 
storm of vanity was raging in her bosom ! What a rush of long-pent 
recollections burst forth at the sound of that enchanting voice ! 

As you wind up a hundred-guinea chronometer with a twopenny 
watch-key — as by means of a dirty wooden plug you set all the 
waters of Versailles a-raging, and splashing, and storming — in like 
manner, and by like humble agents, were Mrs. Catherine’s tumul- 
tuous passions set going. The Count, we have said, slipped up to his 
son, and merely saying, “ How do, Tom ? ” cut the young gentleman 
altogether, and passing round to the lady’s side, said, “ Madam, ’tis 
a charming evening — egad it is ! ” She almost fainted : it was the 
old voice. There he was, after seventeen years, once more at 
her side ! 

Now I know what I could have done. I can turn out a quota- 
tion from Sophocles (by looking to the index) as well as another : I 
can throw off a bit of fine writing, too, with passion, similes, and a 
moral at the end. What, pray, is the last sentence but one but 
the very finest writing ] Suppose, for example, I had made Maxi- 
milian, as he stood by the side of Catherine, look up towards the 
clouds, and exclaim, in the words of the voluptuous Cornelius 
Nepos — 

’Afraoi ve<f>4\cu 

’A pd&fAev (pavepai 

Apovepav <f)v<nv evdyijTOi, k. t. \ 


635 


THE COUNT’S SPEECH 

Or suppose, again, I had said, in a style still more popular : — The 
Count advanced towards the maiden. They both were mute for a 
while ; and only, the beating of her heart interrupted that thrilling 
and passionate silence. Ah, what years of buried joys and fears, 
hopes and disappointments, arose from their graves in the far past, 
and in those brief moments flitted before the united ones ! How 
sad was that delicious retrospect, and oh, how sweet ! The tears 
that rolled down the cheek of each were bubbles from the choked 
and moss-grown wells of youth ; the sigh that heaved each bosom 
had some lurking odours in it — memories of the fragrance of boy- 
hood, echoes of the hymns of the young heart ! Thus is it ever — 
for these blessed recollections the soul always has a place ; and 
while crime perishes, and sorrow is forgotten, the beautiful alone is 
eternal. 

“ 0 golden legends, written in the skies ! ” mused De Galgenstein, 
“ ye shine as ye did in the olden days ! We change, but ye speak 
ever the same language. Gazing in your abysmal depths, the feeble 
ratioci ” 


There, now, are six columns * of the best writing to be found 
in this or any other book. Galgenstein has quoted Euripides thrice, 
Plato once, Lycophron nine times, besides extracts from the Latin 
syntax and the minor Greek poets. Catherine’s passionate em- 
breathings are of the most fashionable order ; and I call upon the 

ingenious critic of the X newspaper to say whether they do not 

possess the real impress of the giants of the olden time — the real 
Platonic smack, in a word ? Not that I want in the least to show 
off ; but it is as well, every now and then, to show the public what 
one can do. 

Instead, however, of all this rant and nonsense, how much finer 
is the speech that the Count really did make ! “ It is a very fine 

evening, — egad it is ! ” The “ egad ” did the whole business : Mrs. 
Cat was as much in love with him now as ever she had been ; and, 
gathering up all her energies, she said, “It is dreadful hot too, I 
think ; ” and with this she made a curtsey. 

“ Stifling, split me I ” added his Excellency. “ What do you 

* There were six columns, as mentioned by the accurate Mr. Solomons ; 
but we have withdrawn two pages and three-quarters, because, although our 
correspondent has been excessively eloquent, according to custom, we were 
anxious to come to the facts of the story. 

Mr. Solomons, by sending to our office, may have the cancelled passages. 

-0. Y, 


636 CATHERINE: A STORY 

say, madam, to a rest in an arbour, and a drink of something 
cool 1 ” 

“ Sir ! ” said the lady, drawing back. 

“ Oh, a drink — a drink by all means,” exclaimed Mr. Billings, 

who was troubled with a perpetual thirst. “ Come, mo , Mrs. 

J ones, I mean : you’re fond of a glass of cold punch, you know ; and 
the rum here is prime, I can tell you.” 

The lady in the mask consented with some difficulty to the 
proposal of Mr. Billings, and was led by the two gentlemen into an 
arbour, where she was seated between them ; and some wax-candles 
being lighted, punch was brought. 

She drank one or two glasses very eagerly, and so did her two 
companions ; although it was evident to see, from the flushed looks 
of both of them, that they had little need of any such stimulus. 
The Count, in the midst of his champagne, it must be said, had been 
amazingly stricken and scandalised by the appearance of such a youth 
as Billings in a public place with a lady under his arm. He was, 
the reader will therefore understand, in the moral stage of liquor ; 
and when he issued out, it was not merely with the intention of 
examining Mr. Billings’s female companion, but of administering to 
him some sound correction for venturing, at his early period of life, 
to form any such acquaintances. On joining Billings, his Excellency’s 
first step was naturally to examine the lady. After they had been 
sitting for a while over their punch, he bethought him of his original 
purpose, and began to address a number of moral remarks to his 
son. 

We have already given some specimens of Monsieur de Galgen- 
stein’s sober conversation ; and it is hardly necessary to trouble the 
reader with any further reports of his speeches. They were intoler- : 
ably stupid and dull ; as egotistical as his morning lecture had 
been, and a hundred times more rambling and prosy. If Cat had 
been in the possession of her sober senses, she would have seen in 
five minutes that her ancient lover was a ninny, and have left him 
with scorn ; but she was under the charm of old recollections, and 
the sound of that silly voice was to her magical. As for Mr. 
Billings, he allowed his Excellency to continue his prattle; only ] 
frowning, yawning, cursing occasionally, but drinking continually. 

So the Count descanted at length upon the enormity of young 
Billings’s early liaisons ; and then he told his own, in the year four, 
with a burgomaster’s daughter at Ratisbon, when he was in the 
Elector of Bavaria’s service— then, after Blenheim, when he had 
come over to the Duke of Marlborough, when a physician’s wife at 
Bonn poisoned herself for him, &c. &c. ; of a piece with the story of 
the canoness, which has been recorded before. All the tales were 


THE TRIO IN THE ARBOUR 637 

true. A clever, ugly, man every now and then is successful with 
the ladies ; but a handsome fool is irresistible. Mrs. Cat listened 
and listened. Good heavens ! she had heard all these tales before, 
and recollected the place and the time — how she was hemming a 
handkerchief for Max ; who came round and kissed her, vowing 
that the physician’s wife was nothing compared to her — how he was 
tired, and lying on the sofa, just come home from shooting. How 
handsome he looked ! Cat thought he was only the handsomer now ; 
and looked more grave and thoughtful, the dear fellow ! 

The garden was filled with a vast deal of company of all kinds, 
and parties were passing every moment before the arbour where our 
trio sat. About half-an-hour after his Excellency had quitted his 
own box and party, the Rev. Mr. O’Flaherty came discreetly round, 
to examine the proceedings of his diplomatical chef. The lady in 
the mask was listening with all her might ; Mr. Billings was 
drawing figures on the table with punch ; and the Count talking 
incessantly. The Father Confessor listened for a moment; and 
then, with something resembling an oath, walked away to the 
entry of the gardens, where his Excellency’s gilt coach, with 
three footmen, was waiting to carry him back to London. “ Get 
me a chair, Joseph,” said his Reverence, who infinitely preferred 
a seat gratis in the coach. “That fool,” muttered he, “will not 
move for this hour.” The reverend gentleman knew that, when the 
Count was on the subject of the physician’s wife his discourses were 
intolerably long; and took upon himself, therefore, to disappear, 
along with the rest of the Count’s party ; who procured other con- 
veyances, and returned to their homes. 

After this quiet shadow had passed before the Count’s box, 
many groups of persons passed and repassed ; and among them 
was no other than Mrs. Polly Briggs, to whom we have been 
already introduced. Mrs. Polly was in company with one or two 
other ladies, and leaning on the arm of a gentleman with large 
shoulders and calves, a fierce cock to his hat, and a shabby-genteel 
air. His name was Mr. Moffat, and his present occupation was 
that of doorkeeper at a gambling-house in Covent Garden ; where, 
though he saw many thousands pass daily under his eyes, his own 
salary amounted to no more than four-and-sixpence weekly, — a sum 
quite insufficient to maintain him in the rank which he held. 

Mr. Moffat had, however, received some funds — amounting, 
indeed, to a matter of twelve guineas — within the last month, 
and was treating Mrs. Briggs very generously to the concert. 
It may be as well to say that every one of the twelve guineas 
had come out of Mrs. Polly’s own pocket; who, in return, had 
received them from Mr. Billings. And as the reader may remember 


638 CATHERINE: A STORY 

that, on the day of Tommy’s first interview with his father, he had 
previously paid a visit to Mrs. Briggs, having under his arm a pair 
of breeches, which Mrs. Briggs coveted — he should now be informed 
that she desired these breeches, not for pincushions, but for Mr. 
Moffat, who had long been in want of a pair. 

Having thus episodically narrated Mr. Moffat’s history, let us 
state that he, his lady, and their friends, passed before the Count’s 
arbour, joining in a melodious chorus to a song which one of the 
society, an actor of Betterton’s, was singing : — 

“ ’Tis my will, when I’m dead, that no tear shall be shed, 

No * Hie jacet ’ be graved on my stone ; 

But pour o’er my ashes a bottle of red, 

And say a good fellow is gone, 

My brave boys ! 

And say a good fellow is gone.” 

“ My brave boys ” was given with vast emphasis by the party ; 
Mr. Moffat growling it in a rich bass, and Mrs. Briggs in a soaring 
treble. As to the notes, when quavering up to the skies, they 
excited various emotions among the people in the gardens. “ Silence 
them blackguards ! ” shouted a barber, who was taking a pint of 
small-beer along with his lady. “ Stop that there infernal screech- 
ing ! ” said a couple of ladies, who were sipping ratafia in company 
with two pretty fellows. 

“ Dang it, it’s Polly ! ” said Mr. Tom Billings, bolting out of 
the box, and rushing towards the sweet-voiced Mrs. Briggs. When 
he reached her, which he did quickly, and made his arrival known 
by tipping Mrs. Briggs slightly on the waist, and suddenly bouncing 
down before her and her friend, both of the latter drew back some- 
what startled. 

“Law, Mr. Billings!” says Mrs. Polly, rather coolly, “is it 
you ? Who thought of seeing you here ? ” 

“Who’s this here young feller?” says towering Mr. Moffat, 
with his bass voice. 

“ It’s Mr. Billings, cousin, a friend of mine,” said Mrs. Polly 
beseechingly. 

“ Oh, cousin, if it’s a friend of yours, he should know better 
how to conduct himself, that’s all. Har you a dancing-master, 
young feller, that you cut them there capers before gentlemen?” 
growled Mr. Moffat; who hated Mr. Billings, for the excellent 
reason that he lived upon him. 

“ Dancing-master be hanged ! ” said Mr. Billings, with becoming 
spirit ; “ if you call me dancing-master, I’ll pull your nose.” 

“ What ! ” roared Mr. Moffat, “ pull my nose ? My nose ! 


MR. BILLINGS LOSES HIS SWORD 639 

I’ll tell you what, my lad, if you durst move me, I’ll cut your 
throat, curse me ! ” 

“Oh, Moffy— ~ cousin, I mean — ’tis a shame to treat the poor 
boy so. Go away, Tommy ; do go away ; my cousin’s in liquor,” 
whimpered Madam Briggs, who really thought that the great door- 
keeper would put his threat into execution. 

“ Tommy ! ” said Mr. Moffat, frowning horribly ; “ Tommy to 

me too ? Dog, get out of my ssss ” sight was the word which 

Mr. Moffat intended to utter ; but he was interrupted ; for, to the 
astonishment of his friends and himself, Mr. Billings did actually 
make a spring at the monster’s nose, and caught it so firmly, that 
the latter could not finish his sentence. 

The operation was performed with amazing celerity ; and having 
concluded it, Mr. Billings sprang back, and whisked from out its 
sheath that new silver-hilted sword which his mamma had given 
him. “Now,” said he, with a fierce kind of calmness, “now for 
the throat-cutting, cousin : I’m your man ! ” 

How the brawl might have ended, no one can say, had the two 
gentlemen actually crossed swords ; but Mrs. Polly, with a wonder- 
ful presence of mind, restored peace by exclaiming, “ Hush, hush ! 
the beaks, the beaks ! ” Upon which, with one common instinct, 
the whole party made a rush for the garden gates, and disappeared 
into the fields. Mrs. Briggs knew her company : there was some- 
thing in the very name of a constable which sent them all a-flying. 

After running a reasonable time, Mr. Billings stopped. But 
the great Moffat was nowhere to be seen, and Polly Briggs had 
likewise vanished. Then Tom bethought him that he would go back 
to his mother ; but, arriving at the gate of the gardens, was refused 
admittance, as he had not a shilling in his pocket. “I’ve left,” 
says Tommy, giving himself the airs of a gentleman, “ some friends 
in the gardens. I’m with his Excellency the Bavarian henvy.” 

“ Then you had better go away with him,” said the gate people. 

“ But I tell you I left him there, in the grand circle, with a 
lady : and, what’s more, in the dark walk, I have left a silver- 
hilted sword.” 

“ Oh, my Lord, I’ll go and tell him then,” cried one of the 
porters, “ if you will wait.” 

Mr. Billings seated himself on a post near the gate, and there 
consented to remain until the return of his messenger. The latter 
went straight to the dark walk, and found the sword, sure enough. 
But, instead of returning it to its owner, thifc discourteous knight 
broke the trenchant blade at the hilt ; and flinging the steel away, 
pocketed the baser silver metal, and lurked off by the private door 
consecrated to the waiters and fiddlers. 


640 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


“ In the meantime, Mr. Billings waited and waited. And what 
was the conversation of his worthy parents inside the garden ? I 
cannot say ; but one of the waiters declared that he had served 
the great foreign Count with two bowls of rack-punch, and some 
biscuits, in No. 3 : that in the box with him were first a young 
gentleman, who went away, and a lady, splendidly dressed and 
masked : that when the lady and his Lordship were alone, she 
edged away to the further end of the table, and they had much 
talk : that at last, when his Grace had pressed her very much, 
she took off her mask and said, “ Don’t you know me now, Max ? ” 
that he cried out “My own Catherine, thou art more beautiful 
than ever ! ” and wanted to kneel down and vow eternal love to 
her ; but she begged him not to do so in a place where all the world 
would see : that then his Highness paid, and they left the gardens, 
the lady putting on her mask again. 

When they issued from the gardens, “ Ho ! Joseph la Rose, 
my coach ! ” shouted his Excellency, in rather a husky voice ; and 
the men who had been waiting came up with the carriage. A 
young gentleman, who was dozing on one of the posts at the entry, 
woke up suddenly at the blaze of the torches and the noise of the 
footmen. The Count gave his arm to the lady in the mask, who 
slipped in ; and he was whispering La Rose, when the lad who had 
been sleeping hit his Excellency on the shoulder, and said, “ I say, 
Count, you can give me a cast home too,” and jumped into the 
coach. 

When Catherine saw her son, she threw herself into his arms, 
and kissed him with a burst of hysterical tears ; of which Mr. 
Billings was at a loss to understand the meaning. The Count 
joined them, looking not a little disconcerted ; and the pair were 
landed at their own door, where stood Mr. Hayes, in his nightcap, 
ready to receive them, and astounded at the splendour of the equi- 
page in which his wife returned to him. 


CHAPTER XI 


OF SOME DOMESTIC QUARRELS, AND THE CONSEQUENCE 
THEREOF 

AN ingenious magazine-writer, who lived in the time of Mr. Brock 
h A and the Duke of Marlborough, compared the latter gentle- 
* ^ man’s conduct in battle, when he 

“ In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 

To fainting squadrons lent the timely aid ; 

Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 

And taught the doubtful battle where to rage ” 

Mr. Joseph Addison, I say, compared the Duke of Marlborough to 
an angel, who is sent by Divine command to chastise a guilty people — 

u And pleased his Master’s orders to perform, 

Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm. ” 

The first four of these novel lines touch off the Duke’s disposition 
and genius to a tittle. He had a love for such scenes of strife : in 
the midst of them his spirit rose calm and supreme, soaring (like an 
angel or not, but anyway the compliment is a very pretty one) on 
the battle-clouds majestic, and causing to ebb or to flow the mighty 
tide of war. 

But as this famous simile might apply with equal propriety to 
a bad angel as to a good one, it may in like manner be employed to 
illustrate small quarrels as well as great — a little family squabble, 
in which two or three people are engaged, as well as a vast national 
dispute, argued on each side by the roaring throats of five hundred 
angry cannon. The poet means, in fact, that the Duke of Marl- 
borough had an immense genius for mischief. 

Our friend Brock, or Wood (whose actions we love to illustrate 
by the very handsomest similes), possessed this genius in common 
with his Grace ; and was never so happy, or seen to so much advan- 
tage, as when he was employed in setting people by the ears. His 
spirits, usually dull, then rose into the utmost gaiety and good- 
humour. When the doubtful battle flagged, he by his art would 
instantly restore it. When, for instance, Tom’s repulsed battalions 
4 2 s 


642 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


of rhetoric fled from his mamma’s fire, a few words of apt sneer or 
encouragement on Wood’s part would bring the fight round again ; 
or when Mr. Hayes’s fainting squadrons of abuse broke upon the 
stubborn squares of Tom’s bristling obstinacy, it was Wood’s delight 
to rally the former, and bring him once more to the charge. A great 
share had this man in making those bad people worse. Many fierce 
words and bad passions, many falsehoods and knaveries on Tom’s 
part, much bitterness, scorn, and jealousy on the part of Hayes and 
Catherine, might be attributed to this hoary old tempter, whose joy 
and occupation it was to raise and direct the domestic storms and 
whirlwinds of the family of which he was a member. And do not 
let us be accused of an undue propensity to use sounding words, 
because we compare three scoundrels in the Tyburn Road to so 
many armies, and Mr. Wood to a mighty field-marshal. My dear 
sir, when you have well studied the world — how supremely great 
the meanest thing in this world is, and how infinitely mean the 
greatest — I am mistaken if you do not make a strange and proper 
jumble of the sublime and the ridiculous, the lofty and the low. I 
have looked at the world, for my part, and come to the conclusion 
that I know not which is which. 

Well, then, on the night when Mrs. Hayes, as recorded by us, 
had been to the Marylebone Gardens, Mr. Wood had found the 
sincerest enjoyment in plying her husband with drink; so that, 
when Catherine arrived at home, Mr. Hayes came forward to meet 
her in a manner which showed he was not only surly, but drunk. 
Tom stepped out of the coach first ; and Hayes asked him, with an 
oath, where he had been 1 The oath Mr. Billings sternly flung back 
again (with another in its company), and at the same time refused 
to give his stepfather any sort of answer to his query. 

“ The old man is drunk, mother,” said he to Mrs. Hayes, as he 
handed that lady out of the coach (before leaving which she had to 
withdraw her hand rather violently from the grasp of the Count, 
who was inside). Hayes instantly showed the correctness of his 
surmise by slamming the door courageously in Toni’s face, when he 
attempted to enter the house with his mother. And when Mrs. 
Catherine remonstrated, according to her wont, in a very angry and 
supercilious tone, Mr. Hayes replied with equal haughtiness, and a 
regular quarrel ensued. 

People were accustomed in those days to use much more simple 
and expressive terms of language than are now thought polite ; and 
it would be dangerous to give, in this present year 1840, the exact 
words of reproach which passed between Hayes and his wife in 
1726. Mr. Wood sat near, laughing his sides out. Mr. Hayes 
swore that his wife should not go abroad to tea-gardens in search of 


A MATRIMONIAL FRACAS 643 

vile Popish noblemen ; to which Mrs. Hayes replied, that Mr. 
Hayes was a pitiful, lying, sneaking cur, and that she would go 
where she pleased. Mr. Hayes rejoined that if she said much more 
he would take a stick to her. Mr. Wood whispered, “And serve 
her right.” Mrs. Hayes thereupon swore she had stood his cowardly 
blows once or twice before, but that if ever he did so again, as sure 
as she was born, she would stab him. Mr. Wood said, “ Curse me, 
but I like her spirit.” 

Mr. Hayes took another line of argument, and said, “The 
neighbours would talk, madam.” 

“Ay, that they will, no doubt,” said Mr. Wood. 

“Then let them,” said Catherine. “What do we care about 
the neighbours ? Didn’t the neighbours talk when you sent Widow 
Wilkins to gaol 1 Didn’t the neighbours talk when you levied on 
poor old Thomson ? You didn’t mind then , Mr. Hayes.” 

“ Business, ma’am, is business ; and if I did distrain on Thomson, 
and lock up Wilkins, I think you knew about it as much as I.” 

“I’ faith, I believe you’re a pair,” said Mr. Wood. 

“Pray, sir, keep your tongue to yourself. Your opinion isn’t 
asked anyhow — no, nor your company wanted neither,” cried Mrs. 
Catherine, with proper spirit. 

At which remark Mr. Wood only whistled. 

“ I have asked this here gentleman to pass this evening along 
with me. We’ve been drinking together, ma’am.” 

“ That we have,” said Mr. Wood, looking at Mrs. Cat with the 
most perfect good-humour. 

“ I say, ma’am, that we’ve been a-drinking together ; and when 
we’ve been a-drinking together, I say that a man is my friend. 
Doctor Wood is my friend, madam — the Reverend Doctor Wood. 
We’ve passed the evening in company, talking about politics, madam 
— politics and riddle-iddle-igion. We’ve not been flaunting in tea- 
gardens, and ogling the men.” 

“ It ’s a lie ! ” shrieked Mrs. Hayes. “ I went with Tom — you 
know I did : the boy wouldn’t let me rest till I promised to go.” 

“ Hang him, I hate him,” said Mr. Hayes : “ he’s always in my 
way.” 

“ He’s the only friend I have in the world, and the only being 
I care a pin for,” said Catherine. 

“ He ’s an impudent idle good-for-nothing scoundrel, and I hope 
to see him hanged ! ” shouted Mr. Hayes. “ And pray, madam, 
whose carriage was that as you came home in ? I warrant you paid 
something for the ride — ha, ha ! ” 

“ Another lie ! ” screamed Cat, and clutched hold of a supper- 
knife. “ Say it again, John Hayes, and, by , I’ll do for you.” 


644 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


“Do for me? Hang me,” said Mr. Hayes, flourishing a stick, 
and perfectly pot-valiant, “ do you think I care for a bastard and 
a ” 

He did not finish the sentence, for the woman ran at him like 
a savage, knife in hand. He bounded back, flinging his arms about 
wildly, and struck her with his staff sharply across the forehead. 
The woman went down instantly. A lucky blow was it for Hayes 
and her : it saved him from death, perhaps, and her from murder. 

All this scene — a very important one of our drama — might have 
been described at much greater length ; but, in truth, the author 
has a natural horror of dwelling too long upon such hideous spectacles : 
nor would the reader be much edified by a full and accurate know- 
ledge of what took place. The quarrel, however, though not more 
violent than many that had previously taken place between Hayes 
and his wife, was about to cause vast changes in the condition of 
this unhappy pair. 

Hayes was at the first moment of his victory very much alarmed ; 
he feared that he had killed the woman; and Wood started up 
rather anxiously too, with the same fancy. But she soon began 
to recover. Water was brought; her head was raised and bound 
up ; and in a short time Mrs. Catherine gave vent to a copious fit 
of tears, which relieved her somewhat. These did not affect Hayes 
much — they rather pleased him, for he saw he had got the better ; 
and although Cat fiercely turned upon him when he made some 
small attempt towards reconciliation, he did not heed her anger, 
but smiled and winked in a self-satisfied way at Wood. The 
coward was quite proud of his victory ; and finding Catherine 
asleep, or apparently so, when he followed her to bed, speedily gave 
himself up to slumber too, and had some pleasant dreams to his 
portion. 

Mr. Wood also went sniggering and happy up-stairs to his 
chamber. The quarrel had been a real treat to him ; it excited the 
old man — tickled him into good-humour ; and he promised himself 
a rare continuation of the fun when Tom should be made acquainted 
with the circumstances of the dispute. As for his Excellency the 
Count, the ride from Marylebone Gardens, and a tender squeeze of 
the hand, which Catherine permitted to him on parting, had so 
inflamed the passions of the nobleman, that, after sleeping for nine 
hours, and taking his chocolate as usual the next morning, he 
actually delayed to read the newspaper, and kept waiting a toy-shop 
lady from Cornhill (with the sweetest bargain of Mechlin lace) in 
order to discourse to his chaplain on the charms of Mrs. Hayes. 

She, poor thing, never closed her lids, except when she would 
have had Mr. Hayes imagine that she slumbered ; but lay beside 


MRS. HAYES’S TRAIN OF REASONING 645 

him, tossing and tumbling, with hot eyes wide open, and heart 
thumping, and pulse of a hundred and ten, and heard the heavy 
hours tolling \ and at last the day came peering, haggard, through 
the window-curtains, and found her still wakeful and wretched. 

Mrs. Hayes had never been, as we have seen, especially fond of 
her lord ; but now, as the day made visible to her the sleeping figure 
and countenance of that gentleman, she looked at him with a con- 
tempt and loathing such as she had never felt even in all the years 
of her wedded life. Mr. Hayes was snoring profoundly : by his 
bedside, on his ledger, stood a large greasy tin candestick, containing 
a lank tallow-candle, turned down in the shaft ; and in the lower 
part, his keys, purse, and tobacco-pipe ; his feet were huddled up 
in his greasy threadbare clothes ; his head and half his sallow face 
muffled up in a red woollen nightcap ; his beard was of several days’ 
growth ; his mouth was wide open, and he was snoring profoundly : 
on a more despicable little creature the sun never shone. And to 
this sordid wretch was Catherine united for ever. What a pretty 
rascal history might be read in yonder greasy day-book, which 
never left the miser ! — he never read in any other. Of what a 
treasure were yonder keys and purse the keepers ! not a shilling 
they guarded but was picked from the pocket of necessity, plundered 
from needy wantonness, or pitilessly squeezed from starvation. “ A 
fool, a miser, and a coward ! Why was I bound to this wretch ? ” 
thought Catherine: “I, who am high-spirited and beautiful (did 
not he tell me so ?) ; I who, born a beggar, have raised myself to 
competence, and might have mounted — who knows whither? — if 
cursed Fortune had not balked me ! ” 

As Mrs. Cat did not utter these sentiments, but only thought 
them, we have a right to clothe her thoughts in the genteelest 
possible language ; and, to the best of our power, have done so. If 
the reader examines Mrs. Hayes’s train of reasoning, he will not, we 
should think, fail to perceive how ingeniously she managed to fix 
all the wrong upon her husband, and yet to twist out some con- 
solatory arguments for her own vanity. This perverse argumentation 
we have all of us, no doubt, employed in our time. How often 
have we, — we poets, politicians, philosophers, family-men, — found 
charming excuses for our own rascalities in the monstrous wickedness 
of the world about us ; how loudly have we abused the times and 
our neighbours ! All this devil’s logic did Mrs. Catherine, lying 
wakeful in her bed on the night of the Marylebone fete, exert in 
gloomy triumph. 

It must, however, be confessed, that nothing could be more just 
than Mrs. Hayes’s sense of her husband’s scoundrelism and meanness ; 
for if we have not proved these in the course of this history, we have 


646 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


proved nothing. Mrs. Cat had a shrewd observing mind ; and if she 
wanted for proofs against Hayes, she had but to look before and 
about her to find them. This amiable pair were lying in a large 
walnut-bed, with faded silk furniture, which had been taken from 
under a respectable old invalid widow, who had become security for 
a prodigal son ; the room was hung round with an antique tapestry 
(representing Rebecca at the Well, Bathsheba Bathing, Judith and 
Holofernes, and other subjects from Holy Writ), which had been 
many score times sold for fifty pounds, and bought back by Mr. 
Hayes for two, in those accommodating bargains which he made with 
young gentlemen, who received fifty pounds of money and fifty of 
tapestry in consideration of their hundred-pound bills. Against this 
tapestry, and just cutting off Holofernes’s head, stood an enormous 
ominous black clock, the spoil of some other usurious transaction. 
Some chairs, and a dismal old black cabinet, completed the furniture of 
this apartment: it wanted but a ghost to render its gloom complete. 

Mrs. Hayes sat up in the bed sternly regarding her husband. 
There is, be sure, a strong magnetic influence in wakeful eyes so 
examining a sleeping person (do not you, as a boy, remember waking 
of bright summer mornings and finding your mother looking over 
you ] had not the gaze of her tender eyes stolen into your senses long 
before you woke, and cast over your slumbering spirit a sweet spell 
of peace, and love, and fresh-springing joy 1). Some such influence 
had Catherine’s looks upon her husband : for, as he slept under 
them, the man began to writhe about uneasily, and to burrow his 
head in the pillow, and to utter quick, strange moans and cries, such as 
have often jarred one’s ear while watching at the bed of the feverish 
sleeper. It was just upon six, and presently the clock began to utter 
those dismal grinding sounds, which issue from clocks at such periods, 
and which sound like the death-rattle of the departing hour. Then 
the bell struck the knell of it ; and with this Mr. Hayes awoke, and 
looked up, and saw Catherine gazing at him. 

Their eyes met for an instant, and Catherine turned away, burn- 
ing red, and looking as if she had been caught in the commission of 
a crime. 

A kind of blank terror seized upon old Hayes’s soul : a horrible 
icy fear, and presentiment of coming evil ; and yet the woman had 
but looked at him. He thought rapidly over the occurrences of the 
last night, the quarrel, and the end of it. He had often struck 
her before when angry, and heaped all kinds of bitter words upon 
her ; but, in the morning, she bore no malice, and the previous 
quarrel was forgotten, or, at least, passed over. Why should the 
last night’s dispute not have the same end % Hayes calculated all 
this, and tried to smile. 


647 


AN ABODE OF THE FURIES 

“I hope we’re friends, Cat]” said he. “You know I was in 
liquor last night, and sadly put out by the loss of that fifty pound. 
They’ll ruin me, dear — I know they will.” 

Mrs. Hayes did not answer. 

“ I should like to see the country again, dear,” said he, in his 
most wheedling way. “ I’ve a mind, do you know, to call in all our 
money ] It’s you who’ve made every farthing of it, that’s sure ; and 
it’s a matter of two thousand pound by this time. Suppose we go 
into Warwickshire, Cat, and buy a farm, and live genteel. Shouldn’t 
you like to live a lady in your own county again ] How they’d 
stare at Birmingham ! hey, Cat ? ” 

And with this Mr. Hayes made a motion as if he would seize his 
wife’s hand, but she flung his back again. 

“ Coward ! ” said she, “ you want liquor to give you courage, and 
then you’ve only heart enough to strike women.” 

“It was only in self-defence, my dear,” said Hayes, whose 
courage had all gone. “You tried, you know, to — to ” 

“To stab you, and I wish I had!” said Mrs. Hayes, setting 
her teeth, and glaring at him like a demon; and so saying, she 
sprung out of bed. There was a great stain of blood on her pillow. 
“ Look at it,” said she. “ That blood’s of your shedding ! ” and 
at this Hayes fairly began to weep, so utterly downcast and 
frightened was the miserable man. The wretch’s tears only in- 
spired his wife with a still greater rage and loathing; she cared 
not so much for the blow, but she hated the man : the man to 
whom she was tied for ever — for ever ! The bar between her and 
wealth, happiness, love, rank perhaps. “ If I were free,” thought 
Mrs. Hayes (the thought had been sitting at her pillow all night, 
and whispering ceaselessly into her ear) — “If I were free, Max 
would marry me ; I know he would : — he said so yesterday ! ” 

As if by a kind of intuition, old Wood seemed to read all this 
woman’s thoughts; for he said that day with a sneer, that he 
would wager she was thinking how much better it would be to 
be a Count’s lady than a poor miser’s wife. “ And faith,” said he, 
“a Count and a chariot-and-six is better than an old skinflint with 
a cudgel.” And then he asked her if her head w T as better, and 
supposed that she was used to beating ; and cut sundry other jokes, 
which made the poor wretch’s wounds of mind and body feel a 
thousand times sorer. 

Tom, too, was made acquainted with the dispute, and swore 
his accustomed vengeance against his stepfather. Such feelings, 
Wood, with a dexterous malice, would never let rest; it was his 
joy, at first quite a disinterested one, to goad Catherine and to 


648 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


frighten Hayes : though, in truth, that unfortunate creature had 
no occasion for incitements from without to keep up the dreadful 
state of terror and depression into which he had fallen. 

For, from the morning after the quarrel, the horrible words 
and looks of Catherine never left Hayes’s memory; but a cold 
fear followed him — a dreadful prescience. He strove to overcome 
this fate as a coward would — to kneel to it for compassion — to 
coax and wheedle it into forgiveness. He was slavishly gentle to 
Catherine, and bore her fierce taunts with mean resignation. He 
trembled before young Billings, who was now established in the 
house (his mother said, to protect her against the violence of her j 
husband), and suffered his brutal language and conduct without 
venturing to resist. 

The young man and his mother lorded over the house : Hayes 
hardly dared to speak in their presence; seldom sat with the 
family except at meals; but slipped away to his chamber (he 
slept apart now from his wife) or passed the evening at the public- 
house, where he was constrained to drink — to spend some of his 
beloved sixpences for drink ! 

And, of course, the neighbours began to say, “John Hayes 
neglects his wife.” “He tyrannises over her, and beats her.” 
“Always at the public-house, leaving an honest woman alone at 
home ! ” 

The unfortunate wretch did not hate his wife. He was used 
to her — fond of her as much as he could be fond — sighed to be 
friends with her again — repeatedly would creep, whimpering, to 
Wood’s room, when the latter was alone, and begged him to bring 
about a reconciliation. They were reconciled, as much as ever they 
could be. The woman looked at him, thought what she might be 
but for him, and scorned and loathed him with a feeling that almost 
amounted to insanity. What nights she lay awake, weeping, and 
cursing herself and him ! His humility and beseeching looks only 
made him more despicable and hateful to her. 

If Hayes did not hate the mother, however, he hated the boy 
— hated and feared him dreadfully. He would have poisoned him 
if he had had the courage ; but he dared not : he dared not even 
look at him as he sat there, the master of the house, in insolent 
triumph. 0 God ! how the lad’s brutal laughter rung in Hayes’s 
ears ; and how the stare of his fierce bold black eyes pursued him ! 

Of a truth, if Mr. Wood loved mischief, as he did, honestly and 
purely for mischiefs sake, he had enough here. There was mean 
malice, and fierce scorn, and black revenge, and sinful desire, boiling 
up in the hearts of these wretched people, enough to content Mr. 
Wood’s great master himself. 


HOUSEHOLD SPIES 649 

Hayes’s business, as we have said, was nominally that of a 
carpenter ; but since, for the last few years, he had added to it 
that of a lender of money, the carpenter’s trade had been neglected 
altogether for one so much more profitable. Mrs. Hayes had 
exerted herself, with much benefit to her husband, in his usurious 
business. She was a resolute, clear-sighted, keen woman, that 
did not love money, but loved to be rich and push her way in the 
world. She would have nothing to do with the trade now, how- 
ever, and told her husband to manage it himself. She felt that 
she was separated from him for ever, and could no more be brought 
to consider her interests as connected with his own. 

The man was well fitted for the creeping and niggling of his 
dastardly trade; and gathered his moneys, and busied himself 
with his lawyer, and acted as his own bookkeeper and clerk, not 
without satisfaction. His wife’s speculations, when they worked 
in concert, used often to frighten him. He never sent out his 
capital without a pang, and only because he dared not question 
her superior judgment and will. He began now to lend no more : 
he could not let the money out of his sight. His sole pleasure 
was to creep up into his room, and count and recount it. When 
Billings came into the house, Hayes had taken a room next to 
that of Wood. It was a protection to him ; for Wood would often 
rebuke the lad for using Hayes ill; and both Catherine and Tom 
treated the old man with deference. 

At last — it was after he had collected a good deal of his money 
— Hayes began to reason with himself, “Why should I stay 1 ? — 
stay to be insulted by that boy, or murdered by him? He is 
ready for any crime.” He determined to fly. He would send 
Catherine money every year. No — she had the furniture; let her 
let lodgings — that would support her. He would go, and live 
away, abroad in some cheap place— away from that boy and his 
horrible threats. The idea of freedom was agreeable to the poor 
wretch; and he began to wind up his affairs as quickly as he 
could. 

Hayes would now allow no one to make his bed or enter his 
room ; and Wood could hear him through the panels fidgeting 
perpetually to and fro, opening and shutting of chests, and clinking 
of coin. At the least sound he would start up, and would go to 
Billings’s door and listen. Wood used to hear him creeping through 
the passages, and returning stealthily to his own chamber. 

One day the woman and her son had been angrily taunting him 
in the presence of a neighbour. The neighbour retired soon ; and 
Hayes, who had gone with him to the door, heard, on returning, 
the voice of Wood in the parlour. The old man laughed in his 


650 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


usual saturnine way, and said, “Have a care, Mrs. Cat; for if 
Hayes were to die suddenly, by the laws, the neighbours would 
accuse thee of his death.” 

Hayes started as if he had been shot. “ He too is in the plot,” 
thought he. “ They are all leagued against me : they will kill 
me : they are only biding their time.” Fear seized him, and he 
thought of flying that instant and leaving all ; and he stole into 
his room and gathered his money together. But only a half of it 
was there : in a few weeks all would have come in. He had not 
the heart to go. But that night Wood heard Hayes pause at his 
door, before he went to listen at Mrs. Catherine’s. “ What is the 
man thinking of]” said Wood. “He is gathering his money to- 
gether. Has he a hoard yonder unknown to us all 1 ” 

Wood thought he would watch him. There was a closet 
between the two rooms : Wood bored a hole in the panel, and 
peeped through. Hayes had a brace of pistols, and four or five 
little bags before him on the table. One of these he opened, and 
placed, one by one, five-and-twenty guineas into it. Such a sum 
had been due that day — Catherine spoke of it only in the morning; 
for the debtor’s name had by chance been mentioned in the conver- 
sation Hayes commonly kept but a few guineas in the house. 
For what was lie amassing all these] The next day, Wood asked 
for change for a twenty-pound bill. Hayes said he had but three 
guineas. And, when asked by Catherine where the money was 
that was paid the day before, said that it was at the banker’s. 
“ The man is going to fly,” said Wood ; “ that is sure : if he does, 
I know him — he will leave his wife without a shilling.” 

He watched him for several days regularly : two or three more 
bags were added to the former number. “ They are pretty things, 
guineas,” thought Wood, “and tell no tales, like bank-bills.” And 
he thought over the days when he and Macshane used to ride 
abroad in search of them. 

I don’t know what thoughts entered into Mr. Wood’s brain; 
but the next day, after seeing young Billings, to whom he actually 
made a present of a guinea, that young man, in conversing with 
his mother, said, “ Do you know, mother, that if you were free, and 
married the Count, I should be a lord] It’s the German law, 
Mr. Wood says; and you know he was in them countries with 
Marlborough.” 

“ Ay, that he would,” said Mr. Wood, “ in Germany : but 
Germany isn’t England ; and it’s no use talking of such things.” 

“Hush, child!” said Mrs. Hayes, quite eagerly; “how can I 
marry the Count] Besides, a’n’t I married, and isn’t he too great 
a lord for me ] ” 


651 


MRS. CATHERINE’S SECRET 

“Too great a lord ? — not a whit, mother. If it wasn’t for 
Hayes, I might be a lord now. He gave me five guineas only last 
week ; but curse the skinflint who never will part with a shilling.” 

“ It’s not so bad as his striking your mother, Tom. I had my 
stiek up, and was ready to fell him t’other night,” added Mr. Wood. 
And herewith he smiled, and looked steadily in Mrs. Catherine’s 
face. She dared not look again ; but she felt that the old man 
knew a secret that she had been trying to hide from herself. Fool ! 
he knew it ; and Hayes knew it dimly : and never, never, since 
that day of the gala, had it left her, sleeping or waking. When 
Hayes, in his fear, had proposed to sleep away from her, she started 
with joy : she had be*en afraid that she might talk in her sleep, 
and so let slip her horrible confession. 

Old Wood knew all her history since the period of the Maryle- 
bone fete. He had wormed it out of her, day by day ; he had 
counselled her how to act ; warned her not to yield ; to procure, 
at least, a certain provision for her son, and a handsome settlement 
for herself, if she determined on quitting her husband. The old 
man looked on the business in a proper philosophical light, told her 
bluntly that he saw she was bent upon going off with the Count, 
and bade her take precautions : else she might be left as she had 
been before. 

Catherine denied all these charges ; but she saw the Count daily, 
notwithstanding, and took all the measures which Wood had recom- 
mended to her. They were very prudent ones. Galgenstein grew 
hourly more in love : never had he felt such a flame ; not in the 
best days of his youth ; not for the fairest princess, countess, or 
actress, from Vienna to Paris. 

At length — it was the night after he had seen Hayes counting 
his money-bags — old Wood spoke to Mrs. Hayes very seriously. 
“ That husband of yours, Cat,” said he, “ meditates some treason ; 
ay, and fancies we are about such. He listens nightly at your door 
and at mine : he is going to leave you, be sure on’t ; and if he leaves 
you, he leaves you to starve.” 

“ I can be rich elsewhere,” said Mrs. Cat. 

“What, with Maxi” 

“ Ay, with Max : and why not 1 ” said Mrs. Hayes. 

“ Why not, fool ! Do you recollect Birmingham 1 Do you 
think that Galgenstein, who is so tender now because he hasn’t 
won you, will be faithful because he has ? Psha, woman, men are 
not made so ! Don’t go to him until you are sure : if you were 
a widow now, he would marry you ; but never leave yourself at his 
mercy : if you were to leave your husband to go to him, he would 
desert you in a fortnight ! ” 


652 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


She might have been a Countess ! she knew she might, but for 
this cursed barrier between her and her fortune. Wood knew what 
she was thinking of, and smiled grimly. 

“Besides,” he continued, “remember Tom. As sure as you 
leave Hayes without some security from Max, the boy’s ruined : he 

who might be a lord, if his mother had but Psha ! never mind ! 

that boy will go on the road, as sure as my name’s Wood. He’s a 
Turpin cock in his eye, my dear, — a regular Tyburn look. He 
knows too many of that sort already ; and is too fond of a bottle 
and a girl to resist and be honest when it comes to the pinch.” 

“ It’s all true,” said Mrs. Hayes. “ Tom’s a high mettlesome 
fellow, and would no more mind a ride on Hounslow Heath than 
he does a walk now in the Mall.” 

“Do you want him hanged, my dear?” said Wood. 

“ Ah, Doctor ! ” 

“It is a pity, and that’s sure,” concluded Mr. Wood, knocking 
the ashes out of his pipe, and closing this interesting conversation. 
“It is a pity that that old skinflint should be in the way of both 
your fortunes ; and he about to fling you over, too ! ” 

Mrs. Catherine retired musing, as Mr. Billings had previously 
done ; a sweet smile of contentment lighted up the venerable features 
of Doctor Wood, and he walked abroad into the streets as happy a 
fellow as any in London. 


CHAPTER XII 

TREATS OF LOVE , AND PREPARES FOR DEATH 


AND to begin this chapter, we cannot do better than quote a 
/A part of a letter from M. l’Abbd 0 ’Flaherty to Madame la 
* * Comtesse de X at Paris : — 

“Madam, — The little Arouet de Voltaire, who hath come 
‘hither to take a turn in England,’ as I see by the Post of this 
morning, hath brought me a charming pacquet from your Ladyship’s 
hands, which ought to render a reasonable man happy ; but, alas ! 
makes your slave miserable. I think of dear Paris (and something 
more dear than all Paris, of which, Madam, I may not venture to 
speak further) —I think of dear Paris, and find myself in this dismal 
Vitekall, where, when the fog clears up, I can catch a glimpse of 
muddy Thames, and of that fatal palace which the kings of England 
have been obliged to exchange for your noble castle of Saint 
Germains, that stands so stately by silver Seine. Truly, no bad 
bargain. For my part, I would give my grand ambassadorial 
saloons, hangings, gildings, feasts, valets, ambassadors and all, for a 
bicoque in sight of the Thuilleries’ towers, or my little cell in the 
Irlandois. 

“My last sheets have given you a pretty notion of our ambassador’s 
public doings ; now for a pretty piece of private scandal respecting 
that great man. Figure to yourself, Madam, his Excellency is in 
love ; actually in love, talking day and night about a certain fair 
one whom he hath picked out of a gutter ; who is well-nigh forty 
years old ; who was his mistress when he was in England a captain 
of dragoons, some sixty, seventy, or a hundred years since; who 
hath had a son by him, moreover, a sprightly lad, apprentice to a 
tailor of eminence that has the honour of making his Excellency’s 
breeches. 

“Since one fatal night when he met this fair creature at a 
certain place of publique resort, called Marylebone Gardens, our 
Cyrus hath been an altered creature. Love hath mastered this 
brainless ambassador, and his antics afford me food for perpetual 
mirth. He sits now opposite to me at a table inditing a letter to 


6’54 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


his Catherine, and copying it from — what do you think ? — from the 
‘ Grand Cyrus.’ ‘ I swear , madam , that my happiness would be 
to offer you this hand , as I have my heart long ago , and I beg 
you to bear in mind this declaration .’ I have just dictated to 
him the above tender words ; for our Envoy, I need not tell .you, 
i3 not strong at writing or thinking. 

“ The fair Catherine, I must tell you, is no less than a carpenter’s 
wife, a well-to-do bourgeois, living at the Tyburn, or Gallows Road. 
She found out her ancient lover very soon after our arrival, and 
hath a marvellous hankering to be a Count’s lady. A pretty little 
creature is this Madam Catherine. Billets, breakfasts, pretty 
walks, presents of silks and satins, pass daily between the pair ; 
but, strange to say, the lady is as virtuous as Diana, and hath 
resisted all my Count’s cajoleries hitherto. The poor fellow told 
me, with tears in his eyes, that he believed he should have carried 
her by storm on the very first night of their meeting, but that her 
son stepped into the way ; and he or somebody else hath been in 
the way ever since. Madam will never appear alone. I believe it is 
this wondrous chastity of the lady that has elicited this wondrous 
constancy of the gentleman. She is holding out for a settlement ; 
who knows if not for a marriage? Her husband, she says, is 
ailing; her lover is fool enough, and she herself conducts her 
negotiations, as I must honestly own, with a pretty notion of 
diplomacy.” 

This is the only part of the reverend gentleman’s letter that 
directly affects this history. The rest contains some scandal con- 
cerning greater personages about the Court, a great share of abuse 
of the Elector of Hanover, and a pretty description of a boxing- 
match at Mr. Figg’s amphitheatre in Oxford Road, where John 
Wells, of Edmund Bury (as by the papers may be seen), master of 
the noble science of self-defence, did engage with Edward Sutton, of 
Gravesend, master of the said science ; and the issue of the combat. 

“ W.R.” — adds the Father, in a postscript — “Monsieur Figue 
gives a hat to be cudgelled for before the Master mount ; and the 
whole of this fashionable information hath been given me by 
Monseigneur’s son, Monsieur Billings, gargon-tailleur, Chevalier de 
Galgenstein.” 

Mr. Billings was, in fact, a frequent visitor at the Ambassador’s 
house ; to whose presence he, by a general order, was always 
admitted. As for the connection between Mrs. Catherine and her 
former admirer, the Abba’s history of it is perfectly correct; nor 


THE COUNT’S LETTER TO CATHERINE 655 

can it be said that this wretched woman, whose tale now begins to 
wear a darker hue, was, in anything but soul, faithless to her 
husband. But she hated him, longed to leave him, and loved 
another : the end was coming quickly, and every one of our un- 
knowing actors and actresses was to be implicated, more or less, 
in the catastrophe. 

It will be seen that Mrs. Cat had followed pretty closely the 
injunctions of Mr. Wood in regard to her dealings with the Count; 
who grew more heart-stricken and tender daily, as the completion 
of his wishes w'as delayed, and his desires goaded by contradiction. 
The Abb^ has quoted one portion of a letter written by him ; here 
is the entire performance, extracted, as the holy father said, chiefly 
from the romance of the “ Grand Cyrus ” : — 

“ Unhappy Maximilian unto unjust Catherina. 

“ Madam, — It must needs be that I love you better than any 
ever did, since, notwithstanding your injustice in calling me per- 
fidious, I love you no less than I did before. On the .contrary, my 
passion is so violent, and your unjust accusation makes me so 
sensible of it, that if you did but know the resentments of my 
soule, you would confess your selfe the most cruell and unjust 
woman in the world. You shall, ere long, Madam, see me at your 
feete ; and as you were my first passion, so you will be my last. 

“ On my knees I will tell you, at the first handsom opportunity, 
that the grandure of my passion can only be equalled by your 
beauty ; it hath driven me to such a fatall necessity, as that I can- 
not hide the misery which you have caused. Sure, the hostil goddes 
have, to plague me, ordayned that fatal marridge, by which you are 
bound to one so infinitly below you in degree. Were that bond of 
ill-omind Hymen cut in twayn witch binds you, I swear, Madam, 
that my happiniss woulde be to offer you this hande, as I have my 
harte long agoe. And I praye you to beare in minde this declara- 
tion, which I here sign with my hande, and witch I pray you may 
one day be called upon to prove the truth on. Beleave me, Madam, 
that there is none in the world who doth more honor to your vertue 
than myselfe, nor who wishes your happinesse with more zeal than 

“ Maximilian. 

“ From my lodgings in Whitehall, this 25th of February. 

“ To the incomparable Catherina , these, with 
a scarlet satten petticoat” 


The Count had debated about the sentence promising marriage 
in event of Hayes’s death ; but the honest Abb£ cut these scruples 


656 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


very short, by saying, justly, that because he wrote in that manner, 
there was no need for him to act so ; that he had better not sign 
and address the note in full ; and that he presumed his Excellency 
was not quite so timid as to fancy that the woman would follow 
him all the way to Germany, when his diplomatic duties would be 
ended ; as they would soon. 

The receipt of this billet caused such a flush of joy and exulta- 
tion to unhappy happy Mrs. Catherine, that Wood did not fail to 
remark it, and speedily learned the contents of the letter. Wood 
had no need to bid the poor wretch guard it very carefully : it 
never from that day forth left her; it was her title of nobility, — her 
pass to rank, wealth, happiness. She began to look down on her 
neighbours ; her manner to her husband grew more than ordinarily 
scornful ; the poor vain wretch longed to tell her secret, and to take 
her place openly in the world. She a Countess, and Tom a Count’s 
son ! She felt that she should royally become the title ! 

About this time — and Hayes was very much frightened at the 
prevalence of the rumour — it suddenly began to be bruited about in 
this quarter that he was going to quit the country. The story was 
in everybody’s mouth ; people used to sneer when he turned pale, 
and wept, and passionately denied it. It was said, too, that Mrs. 
Hayes was not his wife, but his mistress — everybody had this story 
— his mistress, whom he treated most cruelly, and was about to 
desert. The tale of the blow which had felled her to the ground 
was known in all quarters. When he declared that the woman 
tried to stab him, nobody believed him : the women said he would 
have been served right if she had done so. How had these stories 
gone abroad ? “ Three days more, and I will fly,” thought Hayes ; 

“ and the world may say what it pleases.” 

Ay, fool, fly — away so swiftly that Fate cannot overtake thee : 
hide so cunningly that Death shall not find thy place of refuge ! 


CHAPTER XIII 


BEING A PREPARATION FOR THE END 

T HE reader, doubtless, doth now partly understand what dark 
acts of conspiracy are beginning to gather around Mr. Hayes ; 
and possibly hath comprehended — 

1. That if the rumour was universally credited which declared 
that Mrs. Catherine was only Hayes’s mistress, and not his wife, 

She might, if she so inclined, marry another person ; and thereby 
not injure her fame and excite wonderment, but actually add to her 
reputation. 

2. That if all the world did steadfastly believe that Mr. Hayes 
intended to desert this woman, after having cruelly maltreated her, 
The direction which his journey might take would be of no 
consequence; and he might go to Highgate, to Edinburgh, to 
Constantinople, nay, down a well, and no soul would care to ask 
whither he had gone. 

These points Mr. Hayes had not considered duly. The latter 
case had been put to him, and annoyed him, as we have seen ; the 
former had actually been pressed upon him by Mrs. Hayes herself ; 
who, in almost the only communication she had had with him since 
their last quarrel, had asked him, angrily, in the presence of Wood and 
her son, whether he had dared to utter such lies, and how it came to 
pass that the neighbours looked scornfully at her, and avoided her ? 

To this charge Mr. Hayes pleaded, very meekly, that he was 
not guilty ; and young Billings, taking him by the collar, and 
clinching his fist in his face, swore a dreadful oath that he would 
have the life of him if he dared abuse his mother. Mrs. Hayes 
then spoke of the general report abroad, that he was going to desert 
her; which, if he attempted to do, Mr. Billings vowed that he would 
follow him to Jerusalem and have his blood. These threats, and 
the insolent language of young Billings, rather calmed Hayes than 
agitated him : he longed to be on his journey ; but he began to 
hope that no obstacle would be placed in the way of it. For the 
first time since many days, he began to enjoy a feeling something 
akin to security, and could look with tolerable confidence towards 
a comfortable completion of his own schemes of treason. 


658 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


These points being duly settled, we are now arrived, 0 public, 
at a point for which the author’s soul hath been yearning ever 
since this history commenced. We are now come, 0 critic, to a 
stage of the work when this tale begins to assume an appearance so 
interestingly horrific, that you must have a heart of stone if you are 
not interested by it. 0 candid and discerning reader, who art sick 
of the hideous scenes of brutal bloodshed which have of late come 
forth from pens of certain eminent wits,* if you turn away disgusted 
from the book, remember that this passage hath not been written 
for you, or such as you, who have taste to know and hate the style 
in which it hath been composed; but for the public, which hath 
no such taste : — for the public, which can patronise four different 
representations of Jack Sheppard, — for the public whom its literary 
providers have gorged with blood and foul Newgate garbage, — and 
to whom we poor creatures, humbly following at the tail of our 
great high-priests and prophets of the press, may, as in duty bound, 
offer some small gift of our own : a little mite truly, but given with 
goodwill. Come up, then, fair Catherine and brave Count; — 
appear, gallant Brock, and faultless Billings ; — hasten hither, honest 
John Hayes : the former chapters are but flowers in which we have 
been decking you for the sacrifice. Ascend to the altar, ye innocent 
lambs, and prepare for the final act : lo ! the knife is sharpened, 
and the sacrificer ready ! Stretch your throats, sweet ones, — for 
the public is thirsty, and must have blood ! 


* This was written in 1840. 


CHAPTER THE LAST 



HAT Mr. Hayes had some notion of the attachment of 


Monsieur de Galgenstein for his wife is very certain : the 


A man could not but perceive that she was more gaily dressed, 
and more frequently absent than usual • and must have been quite 
aware that from the day of the quarrel until the present period, 
Catherine had never asked him for a shilling for the house expenses. 
He had not the heart to offer, however ; nor, in truth, did she seem 
to remember that money was due. 

She received, in fact, many sums from the tender Count. Tom 
was likewise liberally provided by the same personage; who was, 
moreover, continually sending presents of various kinds to the person 
on whom his affections were centred. 

One of these gifts was a hamper of choice mountain-wine, which 
had been some weeks in the house, and excited the longing of Mr. 
Hayes, who loved wine very much. This liquor was generally 
drunk by Wood and Billings, who applauded it greatly ; and 
many times, in passing through the back-parlour, which he had to 
traverse in order to reach the stair, Hayes had cast a tender 
eye towards the drink ; of which, had he dared, he would have 
partaken. 

On the 1st of March, in the year 1726, Mr. Hayes had gathered 
together almost the whole sum with which he intended to decamp ; 
and having on that very day recovered the amount of a bill which 
he thought almost hopeless, he returned home in tolerable good- 
humour ; and feeling, so near was his period of departure, something 
like security. Nobody had attempted the least violence on him : 
besides, he was armed with pistols, had his money in bills in a belt 
about his person, and really reasoned with himself that there was 
no danger for him to apprehend. 

He entered the house about dusk, at five o’clock. Mrs. Hayes 
was absent with Mr. Billings ; only Mr. Wood was smoking, accord- 
ing to his wont, in the little back-parlour ; and as Mr. Hayes passed, 
the old gentleman addressed him in a friendly voice, and, wondering 
that he had been such a stranger, invited him to sit and take a 
glass of wine. There was a light and a foreman in the shop ; Mr. 


660 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


Hayes gave his injunctions to that person, and saw no objection to 
Mr. Wood’s invitation. 

The conversation, at first a little stiff between the two gentlemen, 
began speedily to grow more easy and confidential : and so parti- 
cularly bland and good-humoured was Mr. or Doctor Wood, that 
his companion was quite caught, and softened by the charm of his 
manner ; and the pair became as good friends as in the former days 
of their intercourse. 

“ I wish you would come down sometimes of evenings,” quoth 
Doctor Wood ; “ for, though no book-learned man, Mr. Hayes, look 
you, you are a man of the world, and I can’t abide the society of 
boys. There’s Tom, now, since this tiff with Mrs. Cat, the scoundrel 
plays the Grank Turk here ! The pair of ’em, betwixt them, have 
completely gotten the upper hand of you. Confess that you are 
beaten, Master Hayes, and don’t like the boy 1 ” 

“No more I do,” said Hayes; “and that’s the truth on’t. A 
man doth not like to have his wife’s sins flung in his face, nor 
to be perpetually bullied in his own house by such a fiery sprig 
as that.” 

“Mischief, sir, — mischief only,” said Wood: “’tis the fun of 
youth, sir, and will go off as age comes to the lad. Bad as you 
may think him — and he is as skittish and fierce, sure enough, as a 
young colt — there is good stuff in him ; and though he hath, or 
fancies he hath, the right to abuse every one, by the Lord he will 
let none others do so ! Last week, now, didn’t he tell Mrs. Cat 
that you served her right in the last beating matter ? and weren’t 
they coming to knives, just as in your case 1 ? By my faith, they 
were. Ay, and at the ‘Braund’s Head,’ when some fellow said 
that you were a bloody Bluebeard, and would murder your wife, 
stab me if Tom wasn’t up in an instant and knocked the fellow 
down for abusing of you ! ” 

The first of these stories was quite true; the second was only 
a charitable invention of Mr. Wood, and employed, doubtless, for 
the amiable purpose of bringing the old and young men together. 
The scheme partially succeeded ; for, though Hayes was not so far 
mollified towards Tom as to entertain any affection for a young man 
whom he had cordially detested ever since he knew him, yet he felt 
more at ease and cheerful regarding himself : and surely not without 
reason. While indulging in these benevolent sentiments, Mrs. 
Catherine and her son arrived, and found, somewhat to their astonish- 
ment, Mr. Hayes seated in the back-parlour, as in former times ; 
and they were invited by Mr. Wood to sit down and drink. 

We have said that certain bottles of mountain-wine were pre- 
sented by the Count to Mrs. Catherine : these were, at Mr. Wood’s 


MR. HAYES BECOMES INTOXICATED 66l 

suggestion, produced ; and Hayes, who had long been coveting them, 
was charmed to have an opportunity to drink his fill. He forthwith 
began bragging of his great powers as a drinker, and vowed that he 
could manage eight bottles without becoming intoxicated. 

Mr. Wood grinned strangely, and looked in a peculiar way at 
Tom Billings, who grinned too. Mrs. Cat’s eyes were turned 
towards the ground : but her face was deadly pale. 

The party began drinking. Hayes kept up his reputation as a 
toper, and swallowed one, two, three bottles ‘without wincing. He 
grew talkative and merry, and began to sing songs and to cut jokes ; 
at which Wood laughed hugely, and Billings after him. Mrs. Cat 
could not laugh; but sat silent. What ailed her'? Was she think- 
ing of the Count? She had been with Max that day, and had 
promised him, for the next night at ten, an interview near his 
lodgings at Whitehall. It was the first time that she would see 
him alone. They were to meet (not a very cheerful place for a 
love-tryst) at St. Margaret’s churchyard, near Westminster Abbey. 
Of this, no doubt, Cat was thinking ; but what could she mean by 
whispering to Wood, “No, no ! for God’s sake, not to-night ! ” 

“ She means we are to have no more liquor,” said Wood to Mr. 
Hayes ; who heard this sentence, and seemed rather alarmed. 

“ That’s it, — no more liquor,” said Catherine eagerly ; “ you 
have had enough to-night. Go to bed, and lock your door, and 
sleep, Mr. Hayes.” 

“ But I say I’ve not had enough drink ! ” screamed Hayes ; 
“ I’m good for five bottles more, and wager I will drink them, 
too.” 

“Done, for a guinea ! ” said Wood. 

“ Done, and done ! ” said Billings. 

“ Be you quiet ! ” growled Hayes, scowling at the lad. “ I 
will drink what I please, and ask no counsel of yours.” And he 
muttered some more curses against young Billings, which showed 
what his feelings were towards his wife’s son ; and which the latter, 
for a wonder, only received with a scornful smile, and a knowing 
look at Wood. 

Well ! the five extra bottles were brought, and drunk by 
Mr. Hayes ; and seasoned by many songs from the recueil of Mr. 
Thomas d’Urfey and others. The chief part of the talk and 
merriment was on Hayes’s part ; as, indeed, was natural, — for, 
while he drank bottle after bottle of wine, the other two gentlemen 
confined themselves to small-beer,— both pleading illness as an 
excuse for their sobriety. 

And now might we depict, with much accuracy, the course 
of Mr. Hayes’s intoxication, as it rose from the merriment of the 


662 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


three-bottle point to the madness of the four— from the uproarious 
quarrelsomeness of the sixth bottle to the sickly stupidity of the 
seventh ; but we are desirous of bringing this tale to a conclusion, 
and must pretermit all consideration of a subject so curious, so in- 
structive, and so delightful. Suffice it to say, as a matter of 
history, that Mr. Hayes did actually drink seven bottles of 
mountain - wine ; and that Mr. Thomas Billings went to the 
“ Braund’s Head,” in Bond Street, and purchased another, which 
Hayes likewise drank. 

“ That’ll do,” said Mr. Wood to young Billings ; and they 
led Hayes up to bed, whither, in truth, he was unable to walk 
himself. 


Mrs. Springatt, the .lodger, came down to ask what the noise 
was. “ ’Tis only Tom Billings making merry with some friends 
from the country,” answered Mrs. Hayes ; whereupon Springatt 
retired, and the house was quiet. 


Some scuffling and stamping was heard about eleven o’clock 


After they had seen Mr. Hayes to bed, Billings remembered 
that he had a parcel to carry to some person in the neighbourhood 
of the Strand ; and, as the night was remarkably fine, he and Mr. 
Wood agreed to walk together, and set forth accordingly. 

[Here follows a description of the Thames at Midnight, in a 
fine historical style ; with an account of Lambeth, Westminster, the 
Savoy, Baynard’s Castle, Arundel House, the Temple ; of Old 
London Bridge, with its twenty arches, “on which be houses 
builded, so that it seemeth rather a continuall street than a bridge ; ” 
of Bankside, and the “ Globe ” and the “ Fortune ” Theatres ; of 
the ferries across the river, and of the pirates who infest the same 
—namely, tinklermen, petermen, hebbermen, trawlermen ; of the 
fleet of barges that lay at the Savoy steps ; and of the long lines 
of slim wherries sleeping on the river banks and basking and 
shining in the moonbeams. A combat on the river is described, 


THE THAMES AT MIDNIGHT 663 

that takes place between the crews of a tinklerman’s boat and the 
water-bailiff’s. Shouting his war-cry, “ St. Mary Overy a la re~ 
scousse ! ” the water-bailiff sprung at the throat of the tinklerman 
captain. The crews of both vessels, as if aware that the struggle 
of their chiefs would decide the contest, ceased hostilities, and 
awaited on their respective poops . the issue of the death-shock. 
It was not long coming. “ Yield, dog ! ” said the water-bailiff. 
The tinklerman could not answer — for his throat was grasped too 
tight in the iron clench of the city champion ; but drawing his 
snickersnee, he plunged it seven times in the bailiff’s chest : still 
the latter fell not. The death-rattle gurgled in the throat of his 
opponent; his arms fell heavily to his side. Foot to foot, each 
standing at the side of his boat, stood the brave men — they were 
both dead ! “ In the name of St. Clement Danes,” said the master, 

“ give way, my men ! ” and, thrusting forward his halberd (seven 
feet long, richly decorated with velvet and brass nails, and having 
the city arms, argent, a cross gules, and in the first quarter a dagger 
displayed of the second), he thrust the tinklerman’s boat away 
from his own ; and at once the bodies of the captains plunged down, 
down, down, down in the unfathomable waters. 

After this follows another episode. Two masked ladies quarrel 
at the door of a tavern overlooking the Thames : they turn out to be 
Stella and Vanessa, who have followed Swift thither ; who is in the 
act of reading “Gulliver’s Travels” to Gay, Arbuthnot, Bolingbroke, 
and Pope. Two fellows are sitting shuddering under a doorway ; 
to one of them Tom Billings flung a sixpence. He little knew that 
the names of those two young men were — Samuel Johnson and 
Richard Savage .] 


ANOTHER LAST CHAPTER 


R. HAYES did not join the family the next day ; and it 



appears that the previous night’s reconciliation was not very 


^ durable; for when Mrs. Springatt asked Wood for Hayes, 
Mr. Wood stated that Hayes had gone away without saying whither 
he was bound, or how long he might be absent. He only said, in 
rather a sulky tone, that he should probably pass the night at a 
friend’s house. “ For my part, I know of no friend he hath,” added 
Mr. Wood; “and pray Heaven that he may not think of deserting 
his poor wife, whom he hath beaten and ill-used so already ! ” In 
this prayer Mrs. Springatt joined ; and so these two worthy people 


parted. 


What business Billings was about cannot be said ; but he was 
this night bound towards Marylebone Fields, as he was the night 
before for the Strand and Westminster; and, although the night 
was very stormy and rainy, as the previous evening had been fine, 
old Wood good-naturedly resolved upon accompanying him ; and 
forth they sallied together. 

Mrs. Catherine, too, had her business, as we have seen ; but 
this was of a very delicate nature. At nine o’clock, she had an 
appointment with the Count ; and faithfully, by that hour, had 
found her way to Saint Margaret’s churchyard, near Westminster 
Abbey, where she awaited Monsieur de Galgenstein. 

The spot was convenient, being very lonely, and at the same 
time close to the Count’s lodgings at Whitehall. His Excellency 
came, but somewhat after the hour ; for, to say the truth, being a 
freethinker, he had the most firm belief in ghosts and demons, and 
did not care to pace a churchyard alone. He was comforted, there- 
fore, when he saw a woman muffled in a cloak, who held out her hand 
to him at the gate, and said, “ Is that you 1 ” He took her hand, — 
it was very clammy and cold ; and at her desire he bade his confi- 
dential footman, who had attended him with a torch, to retire, and 
leave him to himself. 

The torch -bearer retired, and left them quite in darkness ; and 
the pair entered the little cemetery, cautiously threading their way 
among the tombs. They sat down on one, underneath a tree it 


THE LAST APPOINTMENT 


665 


seemed to be ; the wind was very cold, and its piteous howling was 
the only noise that broke the silence of the place. Catherine’s teeth 
were chattering, for all her wraps ; and when Max drew her close to 
him, and encircled her waist with one arm, and pressed her hand, 
she did not repulse him, but rather came close to him,, and with her 
own damp fingers feebly returned his pressure. 

The poor thing was very wretched and weeping. She confided to 
Max the cause of her grief. She was alone in the world, — alone and 
penniless. Her husband had left her; she had that very day received 
a letter from him which confirmed all that she had suspected so long. 
He had left her, carried away all his property, and would not return ! 

If we say that a selfish joy filled the breast of Monsieur de 
Galgenstein, the reader will not be astonished. A heartless libertine, 
he felt glad at the prospect of Catherine’s ruin ; for he hoped that 
necessity would make her his own. He clasped the poor thing to 
his heart, and vowed that he would replace the husband she had 
lost, and that his fortune should be hers. 

“Will you replace him ? ” said she. 

“Yes, truly, in everything but the name, dear Catherine ; and 
when he dies, I swear you shall be Countess of Galgenstein.” 

“ Will you swear 1 ?” she cried eagerly. 

“ By everything that is most sacred : were you free now, I would ” 
(and here he swore a terrific oath) “ at once make you mine.” 

We have seen before that it cost Monsieur de Galgenstein nothing 
to make these vows. Hayes was likely, too, to live as long as 
Catherine — as long, at least, as the Count’s connection with her; 
but he was caught in his own snare. 

She took his hand and kissed it repeatedly, and bathed it in her 
tears, and pressed it to her bosom. “ Max,” she said, “ I am free ! 
Be mine, and I will love you as I have done for years and years.” 

Max started back. “ What, is he dead ? ” he said. 

“No, no, not dead; but he never was my husband.” 

He let go her hand, and, interrupting her, said sharply, “ Indeed, 
madam, if this carpenter never was your husband, I see no cause why 
I should be. If a lady, who hath been for twenty years the mistress 
of a miserable country boor, cannot find it in her heart to put up 
with the protection of a nobleman — a sovereign’s representative — 
she may seek a husband elsewhere ! ” 

“I was no man’s mistress except yours,” sobbed Catherine, 
wringing her hands and sobbing wildly ; “ but, 0 Heaven ! I deserved 
this. Because I was a child, and you saw, and ruined, and left me 

because, in my sorrow and repentance, I wished to repair my 

crime, and was touched by that man’s love, and married him — ■ 
because he too deceives and leaves me — because, after loving you — 


666 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


madly loving you for twenty years — I will not now forfeit your 
respect, and degrade myself by yielding to your will, you too must 
scorn me ! It is too much — too much — -0 Heaven ! ” And the 
wretched woman fell back almost fainting. 

Max was almost frightened by this burst of sorrow on her part, 
and was coming forward to support her ; but she motioned him away, 
and, taking from her bosom a letter, said, “If it were light, you 
could see. Max, how cruelly I have been betrayed by that man who 
called himself my husband. Long before he married me, he was 
married to another. This woman is still living, he says; and he 
says he leaves me for ever.” 

At this moment the moon, which had been hidden behind West- 
minister Abbey, rose above the vast black mass of that edifice, and 
poured a flood of silver light upon the little church of St. Margaret’s, 
and the spot where the lovers stood. Max was at a little distance 
from Catherine, pacing gloomily up and down the flags. She re- 
mained at her old position at the tombstone under the tree, or pillar, 
as it seemed to be, as the moon got up. She was leaning against 
the pillar, and holding out to Max, with an arm beautifully white 
and rounded, the letter she had received from her husband : “ Read 
it, Max,” she said : “ I asked for light, and here is Heaven’s own, 
by which you may read.” 

But Max did not come forward to receive it. On a sudden his 
face assumed a look of the most dreadful surprise and agony. He 
stood still, and stared with wild eyes starting from their sockets ; 
he stared upwards, at a point seemingly above Catherine’s head. At 
last he raised up his finger slowly and said, “ Look, Cat — the head 
— the head / ” Then uttering a horrible laugh, he fell down grovel- 
ling among the stones, gibbering and writhing in a fit of epilepsy. 

Catherine started forward and looked up. She had been stand- 
ing against a post, not a tree — the moon was shining full on it 
now ; and on the summit, strangely distinct, and smiling ghastly, 
was a livid human head. 

The wretched woman fled — she dared look no more. And some 
hours afterwards, when alarmed by the Count’s continued absence, 
his confidential servant came back to seek for him in the churchyard, 
he was found sitting on the flags, staring full at the head, and laugh- 
ing, and talking to it wildly, and nodding at it. He was taken up 
a hopeless idiot, and so lived for years and years; clanking the chain, 
and moaning under the lash, and howling through long nights when 
the moon peered through the bars of his solitary cell, and he buried 
his face in the straw. 


MR. JOHN HAYES’S HEAD 667 

There — the murder is out ! And having indulged himself in a 
chapter of the very finest writing, the author begs the attention of 
the British public towards it ; humbly conceiving that it possesses 
some of those peculiar merits which have rendered the fine writing 
in other chapters of the works of other authors so famous. 

Without bragging at all, let us just point out the chief claims 
of the above pleasing piece of composition. In the first place, it is 
perfectly stilted and unnatural ; the dialogue and the sentiments 
being artfully arranged, so as to be as strong and majestic as possible. 
Our dear Cat is but a poor illiterate country wench, who has come 
from cutting her husband’s throat ; and yet, see ! she talks and 
looks like a tragedy princess, who is suffering in the most virtuous 
blank verse. This is the proper end of fiction, and one of the 
greatest triumphs that a novelist can achieve : for to make people 
sympathise with virtue is a vulgar trick that any common fellow 
can do; but it is not everybody who can take a scoundrel, and 
cause us to weep and whimper over him as though he were a very 
saint. Give a young lady of five years old a skein of silk and a 
brace of netting-needles, and she will in a short time turn you out a 
decent silk purse — anybody can ; but try her with a sow’s ear, and 
see whether she can make a silk purse out of that. That is the 
work for your real great artist ; and pleasant it is to see how many 
have succeeded in these latter days. 

The subject is strictly historical, as any one may see by referring 
to the Daily Post of March 3, 1726, which contains the following 
paragraph : — 

“ Yesterday morning, early, a man’s head, that by the freshness 
of it seemed to have been newly cut off from the body, having its 
own hair on, was found by the river’s side, near Millbank, West- 
minster, and was afterwards exposed to public view in St. Margaret’s 
churchyard, where thousands of people have seen it ; but none could 
tell who the unhappy person was, much less who committed such a 
horrid and barbarous action. There are various conjectures relating 
to the deceased; but there being nothing certain, we omit them. 
The head was much hacked and mangled in the cutting off.” 

The head which caused such an impression upon Monsieur de 
Galgenstein was, indeed, once on the shoulders of Mr. John Hayes, 
who lost it under the following circumstances. We have seen how 
Mr. Hayes was induced to drink. Mr. Hayes having been encouraged 
in drinking the wine, and growing very merry therewith, he sang 
and danced about the room ; but his wife fearing the quantity he 
had drunk would not have the wished-for effect on him, she sent 


668 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


away for another bottle, of which he drank also. This effectually 
answered their expectations ; and Mr. Hayes became thereby intoxi- 
cated, and deprived of his understanding. 

He, however, made shift to get into the other room, and, throw- 
ing himself upon the bed, fell asleep ; upon which Mrs. Hayes 
reminded them of the affair in hand, and told them that was the 
most proper juncture to finish the business. * 

King, ding, ding ! the gloomy green curtain drops, the dramatis 
personae are duly disposed of, the nimble candle-snuffers put out 
the lights, and the audience goeth pondering home. If the critic 
take the pains to ask why the author, who had been so diffuse in 
describing the early and fabulous acts of Mrs. Catherine’s existence, 
should so hurry off the catastrophe where a deal of the very finest 
writing might have been employed, Solomons replies that the 
“ ordinary ” narrative is far more emphatic than any composition 
of his own could be, with all the rhetorical graces which he might 
employ. Mr. Aram’s trial, as taken by the penny-a-liners of those 
days, had always interested him more than the lengthened and 
poetical report which an eminent novelist has given of the same. 
Mr. Turpin’s adventures are more instructive and agreeable to him 
in the account of the Newgate Plutarch, than in the learned 
Ainsworth’s Biographical Dictionary. And as he believes that the 
professional gentlemen who are employed to invest such heroes with 
the rewards that their great actions merit, will go through the cere- 
mony of the grand cordon with much more accuracy and despatch 
than can be shown by the most distinguished amateur; in like 
manner he thinks that the history of such investitures should be 
written by people directly concerned, and not by admiring persons 
without, who must be ignorant of many of the secrets of Ketchcraft. 
We very much doubt if Milton himself could make a description of 
an execution half so horrible as the simple lines in the Daily Post 
of a hundred and ten years since, that now lies before us — “ herrlich 
wie am ersten Tag,” — as bright and clean as on the day of publi- 
cation. Think of it ! it has been read by Belinda at her toilet, 

* The description of the murder and the execution of the culprits, which 
here follows in the original, was taken from the newspapers of the day. Coming 
from such a source they have, as may be imagined, no literary merit whatever. 
The details of the crime are simply horrible, without one touch of even that 
sort of romance which sometimes gives a little dignity to murder. As such they 
precisely suited Mr. Thackeray’s purpose at the time — which was to show the 
real manners and customs of the Sheppards and Turpins who were then the 
popular heroes of fiction. But nowadays there is no such purpose to serve, and 
therefore these too literal details are omitted. 


THE AUTHOR ADDRESSES HIS READERS 669 

scanned at “Button’s ” and “ Will’s,” sneered at by wits, talked of 
in palaces and cottages, by a busy race in wigs, red heels, hoops, 
patches, and rags of all variety — a busy race that hath long since 
plunged and vanished in the unfathomable gulf towards which we 
march so briskly. 

Where are they 1 “ Afflavit Deus” — and they are gone ! Hark ! 
is not the same wind roaring still that shall sweep us down l and 
yonder stands the compositor at his types who shall put up a pretty 
paragraph some day to say how, “ Yesterday , at his house in 
Grosvenor Square,” or “At Botany Bay, universally regretted,” 
died So-and-So. Into what profound moralities is the paragraph 
concerning Mrs. Catherine’s burning leading us ! 

Ay, truly, and to that very point have we wished to come ; for 
having finished our delectable meal, it behoves us to say a word or 
two by way of grace at its conclusion, and be heartily thankful that 
it is over. It has been the writer’s object carefully to exclude from 
his drama (except in two very insignificant instances — mere walking- 
gentlemen parts), any characters but those of scoundrels of the very 
highest degree. That he has not altogether failed in the object he 
had in view, is evident from some newspaper critiques which he has 
had the good fortune to see; and which abuse the tale of “Catherine” 
as one of the dullest, most vulgar, and immoral works extant. It 
is highly gratifying to the author to find that such opinions are 
abroad, as they convince him that the taste for Newgate literature 
is on the wane, and that when the public critic has right down 
undisguised immorality set before him, the honest creature is shocked 
at it, as he should be, and can declare his indignation in good round 
terms of abuse. The characters of the tale are immoral, and no 
doubt of it ; but the writer humbly hopes the end is not so. The 
public was, in our notion, dosed and poisoned by the prevailing style 
of literary practice, and it was necessary to administer some medicine 
that would produce a wholesome nausea, and afterwards bring about 
a more healthy habit. 

And, thank Heaven, this effect has been produced in very 
many instances, and that the “ Catherine ” cathartic has acted 
most efficaciously. The author has been pleased at the disgust 
which his work has excited, and has watched with benevolent care- 
fulness the wry faces that have been made by many of the patients 
who have swallowed the dose. Solomons remembers, at the estab- 
lishment in Birchin Lane where he had the honour of receiving his 
education, there used to be administered to the boys a certain cough- 
medicine, which was so excessively agreeable that all the lads longed 
to have colds in order to partake of the remedy. Some of our 
popular novelists have compounded their drugs in a similar way, 


CATHERINE: A STORY 


670 

and made them so palatable that a public, once healthy and honest, 
has been well-nigh poisoned by their wares. Solomons defies any 
one to say the like of himself — that his doses have been as pleasant 
as champagne, and his pills as sweet as barley-sugar ; — it has been 
his attempt to make vice to appear . entirely vicious ; and in those 
instances where he hath occasionally introduced something like 
virtue, to make the sham as evident as possible, and not allow the 
meanest capacity a single chance to mistake it. 

And what has been the consequence ? That wholesome nausea 
which it has been his good fortune to create wherever he has been 
allowed to practise in his humble circle. 

Has any one thrown away a halfpennyworth of sympathy upon 
any person mentioned in this history % Surely no. But abler and 
more famous men than Solomons have taken a different plan ; and 
it becomes every man in his vocation to cry out against such, and 
expose their errors as best he may. 

Labouring under such ideas, Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, pro- 
duced the romance of Mrs. Cat, and confesses himself completely 
happy to have brought it to a conclusion. His poem may be dull 
— ay, and probably is. The great Blackmore, the great Dennis, 
the great Sprat, the great Pomfret, not to mention great men of 
our own time — have they not also been dull, and had pretty reputa- 
tions too? Be it granted, Solomons is dull; but don’t attack his 
morality; he humbly submits that, in his poem, no man shall 
mistake virtue for vice, no man shall allow a single sentiment of 
pity or admiration to enter his bosom for any character of the 
piece : it being, from beginning to end, a scene of unmixed rascality 
performed by persons who never deviate into good feeling. And 
although he doth not pretend to equal the great modern authors, 
whom he hath mentioned, in wit or descriptive power ; yet, in the 
point of moral, he meekly believes that he has been their superior ; 
feeling the greatest disgust for the characters he describes, and using 
his humble endeavour to cause the public also to hate them. 


Horsemonger Lane, January 1840. 


THE SECOND FUNERAL 
OF NAPOLEON 


By MICHAEL ANGELO TITMARSH 



THE SECOND FUNERAL 
OF NAPOLEON 

I 

ON THE DISINTERMENT OF NAPOLEON 
AT ST. HELENA 

M Y dear , — It is no easy task in this world to dis- 

tinguish between what is great in it, and what is mean ; 
and many and many is the puzzle that I have had in read- 
ing History (or the works of fiction which go by that name), to 
know whether I should laud up to the skies, and endeavour, to the 
best of my small capabilities, to imitate the remarkable character 
about whom I was reading, or whether I should fling aside the book 
and the hero of it, as things altogether base, unworthy, laughable, 
and get a novel, or a game of billiards, or a pipe of tobacco, or the 
report of the last debate in the House, or any other employment 
which would leave the mind in a state of easy vacuity, rather than 
pester it with a vain set of dates relating to actions which are in 
themselves not worth a fig, or with a parcel of names of people 
whom it can do one no earthly good to remember. 

It is more than probable, my love, that you are acquainted with 
what is called Grecian and Roman history, chiefly from perusing, 
in very early youth, the little sheepskin-bound volumes of the 
ingenious Doctor Goldsmith, and have been indebted for your 
knowledge of our English annals to a subsequent study of the more 
voluminous works of Hume and Smollett. The first and the last- 
named authors, dear Miss Smith, have, written each an admirable 
history, — that of the Reverend Doctor Primrose, Vicar of Wakefield, 
and that of Mr. Robert Bramble, of Bramble Hall — in both of which 
works you will find true and instructive pictures of human life, and 
which you may always think over with advantage. But let me 
4 2 u 


674. THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 


caution you against putting any considerable trust in the other 
works of these authors, which were placed in your hands at school 
and afterwards, and in which you were taught to believe. Modern 
historians, for the most part, know very little, and, secondly, only 
tell a little of what they know. 

As for those Greeks and Romans whom you have read of in 
“sheepskin,” were you to know really what those monsters were, 
you would blush all over as red as a hollyhock, and put down the 
history-book in a fury. Many of our English worthies are no 
better. You are not in a situation to know the real characters of 
any one of them. They appear before you in their public capacities, 
but the individuals you know not. Suppose, for instance, your 
mamma had purchased her tea in the Borough from a grocer living 
there by the name of Greenacre : suppose you had been asked out to 
dinner, and the gentleman of the house had said : “Ho! Francois ! 
a glass of champagne for Miss Smith ; ” — Courvoisier would have 
served you just as any other footman would; you would never have 
known that there was anything extraordinary in these individuals, 
but would have thought of them only in their respective public 
characters of Grocer and Footman. This, madam, is History, in 
which a man always appears dealing with the world in his apron, or 
his laced livery, but which has not the power or the leisure, or, 
perhaps, is too high and mighty, to condescend to follow and study 
him in his privacy. Ah, my dear, when big and little men come 
to be measured rightly, and great and small actions to be weighed 
properly, and people to be stripped of their Royal robes, beggars’ 
rags, generals’ uniforms, seedy out-at-elbowed coats, and the like — 
or the contrary say, when souls come to be stripped of their wicked 
deceiving bodies, and turned out stark naked as they were before 
they were born — what a strange startling sight shall we see, and 
what a pretty figure shall some of us cut ! Fancy how we shall see 
Pride, with his Stultz clothes and padding pulled off, and dwindled 
down to a forked radish ! Fancy some Angelic Virtue whose white 
raiment is suddenly whisked over his head, showing us cloven feet 
and a tail ! Fancy Humility, eased of its sad load of cares and 
want and scorn, walking up to the very highest place of all, and 
blushing as he takes it ! Fancy, — but we must not fancy such a 
scene at all, which would be an outrage on public decency. Should 
we be any better than our neighbours? No, certainly. And as 
we can’t be virtuous, let us be decent. Fig-leaves are a very 
decent becoming wear, and have been now in fashion for four 
thousand years. And so, my dear, History is written on fig-leaves. 
Would you have anything further ? Oil fie ! 

Yes, four thousand years ago that famous tree was planted. At 


ON THE DISINTERMENT AT ST. HELENA 675 

their very first lie, our first parents made for it, and there it is 
still the great Humbug Plant, stretching its wide arms, and shelter- 
ing beneath its leaves, as broad and green as ever, all the generations 
of men. Thus, my dear, coquettes of your fascinating sex cover 
their persons with figgery, fantastically arranged, and call their 
masquerading, modesty. Cowards fig themselves out fiercely as 
“ salvage men,” and make us believe that they are warriors. Fools 
look very solemnly out from the dusk of the leaves, and we fancy 
in the gloom that they are sages. And many a man sets a great 
wreath about his pate and struts abroad a hero, whose claims we 
would all of us laugh at, could we but remove the ornament and 
see his numskull bare. 

And such — (excuse my sermonising) — such is the constitution 
of mankind, that men have, as it were, entered into a compact 
among themselves to pursue the fig-leaf system a outrance , and to 
cry down all who oppose it. Humbug they will have. Humbugs 
themselves, they will respect humbugs. Their daily victuals of life 
must be seasoned with humbug. Certain things are there in the 
world that they will not allow to be called by their right names, 
and will insist upon our admiring, whether we will or no. Woe 
be to the man who would enter too far into the recesses of that 
magnificent temple where our Goddess is enshrined, peep through 
the vast embroidered curtains indiscreetly, penetrate the secret of 
secrets, and expose the Gammon of Gammons ! And as you must 
not peer too curiously within, so neither must you remain scornfully 
without. Humbug-worshippers, let us come into our great temple 
regularly and decently : take our seats and settle our clothes 
decently ; open our books, and go through the service with decent 
gravity ; listen, and be decently affected by the expositions of the 
decent priest of the place; and if by chance some straggling 
vagabond, loitering in the sunshine out of doors, dares to laugh or 
to sing, and disturb the sanctified dulness of the faithful ; — quick ! 
a couple of big beadles rush out and belabour the wretch, and his 
yells make our devotions more comfortable. 

Some magnificent religious ceremonies of this nature are at 
present taking place in France : and thinking that you might 
perhaps while away some long winter evening with an account of 
them, I have compiled the following pages for your use. News- 
papers have been filled, for some days past, with details regarding 
the St. Helena expedition, many pamphlets have been published, 
men go about crying little books and broadsheets filled with real or 
sham particulars; and from these scarce and valuable documents 
the following pages are chiefly compiled. 

We must begin at the beginning; premising, in the first place, 


676 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

that Monsieur Guizot, when French Ambassador at London, waited 
upon Lord Palmerston with a request that the body of the 
Emperor Napoleon should be given up to the French nation, in 
order that it might find a final resting-place in French earth. To 
this demand the English Government gave a ready assent ; nor was 
there any particular explosion of sentiment upon either side, only 
some pretty cordial expressions of mutual goodwill. Orders were 
sent out to St. Helena that the corpse should be disinterred in due 
time, when the French expedition had arrived in search of it, and 
that every respect and attention should be paid to those who came 
to carry back to their country the body of the famous dead warrior 
and sovereign. 

This matter being arranged in very few words (as in England, 
upon most points, is the laudable fashion), the French Chambers 
began to debate about the place in which they should bury the 
body when they got it ; and numberless pamphlets and newspapers 
out of doors joined in the talk. Some people there were who had 
fought and conquered and been beaten with the great Napoleon, and 
loved him and his memory. Many more were there who, because 
of his great genius and valour, felt excessively proud in their own 
particular persons, and clamoured for the return of their hero. And 
if there were some few individuals in this great hot-headed, gallant, 
boasting, sublime, absurd French nation, who had taken a cool view 
of the dead Emperor’s character ; if, perhaps, such men as Louis 
Philippe, and Monsieur A. Thiers, Minister and Deputy, and Mon- 
sieur Francois Guizot, Deputy and Excellency, had, from interest 
or conviction, opinions at all differing from those of the majority ; 
why, they knew what was what, and kept their opinions to them- 
selves, coming with a tolerably good grace, and flinging a few hand- 
fuls of incense upon the altar of the popular idol. 

In the succeeding debates, then, various opinions were given 
with regard to the place to be selected for the Emperor’s sepulture. 
“ Some demanded,” says an eloquent anonymous Captain in the 
Navy who has written an “ Itinerary from Toulon to Saint Helena,” 
“ that the coffin should be deposited under the bronze taken from 
the enemy by the French army — under the column of the Place 
Yendome. The idea was a fine one. This is the most glorious 
monument that was ever raised in a conqueror’s honour. This 
column has been melted out of foreign cannon. These same cannons 
have furrowed the bosoms of our braves with noble cicatrices ; and 
this metal — conquered by the soldier first, by the artist afterwards — 
has allowed to be imprinted on its front its own defeat and our 
glory. Napoleon might sleep in peace under this audacious trophy. 
But, would his ashes find a shelter sufficiently vast beneath this 


ON THE DISINTERMENT AT ST. HELENA 677 

pedestal 1 ? And his puissant statue dominating Paris beams with 
sufficient grandeur on this place ; whereas the wheels of carriages 
and the feet of passengers would profane the funereal sanctity of the 
spot in trampling on the soil so near his head.” 

You must not take this description, dearest Amelia, “at the 
foot of the letter,” as the French phrase it, but you will here have 
a masterly exposition of the arguments for and against the burial 
of the Emperor under the Column of the Place Venddme. The 
idea was a fine one, granted ; but, like all other ideas, it was open 
to objections. You must not fancy that the cannon, or rather the 
cannon-balls, were in the habit of furrowing the bosoms of French 
braves, or any other braves, with cicatrices : on the contrary, it is 
a known fact that cannon-balls make wounds, and not cicatrices 
(which, my dear, are wounds partially healed) ; nay, that a man 
generally dies after receiving one such projectile on his chest, much 
more after having his bosom furrowed by a score of them. No, my 
love; no bosom, however heroic, can stand such applications, and 
the author only means that the French soldiers faced the cannon 
and took them. Nor, my love, must you suppose that the column 
was melted : it was the cannon was melted, not the column ; but 
such phrases are often used by orators when they wish to give a 
particular force and emphasis to their opinions. 

Well, again, although Napoleon might have slept in peace under 
“this audacious trophy,” how could he do so and carriages go 
rattling by all night, and people with great iron heels to their boots 
pass clattering over the stones 1 Nor indeed could it be expected 
that a man whose reputation stretches from the Pyramids to the 
Kremlin, should find a column of which the base is only five-and- 
twenty feet square, a shelter vast enough for his bones. In a word, 
then, although the proposal to bury Napoleon under the column 
was ingenious, it was found not to suit ; whereupon somebody else 
proposed the Madeleine. 

“ It was proposed,” says the before-quoted author with his usual 
felicity, “ to consecrate the Madeleine to his exiled manes ” — that is, 
to his bones when they were not in exile any longer. “ He ought 
to have, it was said, a temple entire. His glory fills the world. 
His bones could not contain themselves in the coffin of a man — in 
the tomb of a king ! ” In this case what was Mary Magdalen to do ? 
“This proposition, I am happy to say, was rejected, and a new 
one — that of the President of the Council — adopted. Napoleon 
and his braves ought not to quit each other. Under the immense 
gilded dome of the Invalides he would find a sanctuary worthy of 
himself. A dome imitates the vault of heaven, and that vault 
alone ” (meaning of course the other vault) “ should dominate above 


678 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

his head. His old mutilated Guard shall watch round him : the 
last veteran, as he has shed his blood in his combats, shall breathe 
his last sigh near his tomb, and all these tombs shall sleep under 
the tattered standards that have been won from all the nations 
of Europe.” 

The original words are “ sous les lambeaux dibits des drapeaux 
cueillis chez toutes les nations ; ” in English, “ under the riddled 
rags of the flags that have been culled or plucked ” (like roses or 
buttercups) “ in all the nations.” Sweet innocent flowers of 
victory ! there they are, my dear, sure enough, and a pretty con- 
siderable hortus siccus may any man examine who chooses to 
walk to the Invalides. The burial-place being thus agreed on, the 
expedition was prepared, and on the 7th July the Belle Poule 
frigate, in company with La Favorite corvette, quitted Toulon 
harbour. A couple of steamers, the Trident and the Ocean , 
escorted the ships as far as Gibraltar, and there left them to pursue 
their voyage. 

The two ships quitted the harbour in the sight of a vast con- 
course of people, and in the midst of a great roaring of cannons. 
Previous to the departure of the Belle Poule , the Bishop of 
Frdjus went on board, and gave to the cenotaph, in which the 
Emperor’s remains were to be deposited, his episcopal benediction. 
Napoleon’s old friends and followers, the two Bertrands, Gourgaud, 
Emanuel Las Cases, “companions in exile, or sons of the com- 
panions in exile, of the prisoner of the infdme Hudson,” says a 
French writer, were passengers on board the frigate. Marchand, 
Denis, Pierret, Novaret, his old and faithful servants, were likewise 
in the vessel. It was commanded by His Royal Highness Francis 
Ferdinand Philip Louis Marie d’ Orleans, Prince de Joinville, a 
young prince two-and-twenty years of age, who was already dis- 
tinguished in the service of his country and king. 

On the 8th of October, after a voyage of six-and-sixty days, the 
Belle Poule arrived in James Town harbour ; and on its arrival, 
as on its departure from France, a great firing of guns took place. 
First, the Oreste French brig-of-war began roaring out a saluta- 
tion to the frigate; then the Dolphin English schooner gave her 
one-and-twenty guns ; then the frigate returned the compliment of 
the Dolphin schooner; then she blazed out with one-and-twenty 
guns more, as a mark of particular politeness to the shore — which 
kindness the forts acknowledged by similar detonations. 

These little compliments concluded on both sides, Lieutenant 
Middlemore, son and aide-de-camp of the Governor of St. Helena, 
came on board the French frigate, and brought his father’s best 
respects to His Royal Highness. The Governor was at home ill, 


ON THE DISINTERMENT AT ST. HELENA 679 

and forced to keep his room ; hut he had made his house at James 
Town ready for Captain Joinville and his suite, and begged that 
they would make use of it during their stay. 

On the 9th, H.R.H. the Prince of Joinville put on his full 
uniform and landed, in company with Generals Bertrand and Gour- 
gaud, Baron Las Cases, M. Marchand, M. Coquereau, the chaplain 
of the expedition, and M. de Rohan Chabot, who acted as chief 
mourner. All the garrison were under arms to receive the illustrious 
Prince and the other members of the expedition — who forthwith 
repaired to Plantation House, and had a conference with the Governor 
regarding their mission. 

On the 10th, 11th, 12th, these conferences continued : the crews 
of the French ships were permitted to come on shore and see the 
tomb of Napoleon. Bertrand, Gourgaud, Las Cases wandered about 
the island and revisited the spots to which they had been partial in 
the lifetime of the Emperor. 

The 15th October was fixed on for the day of the exhumation : 
that day five-and-twenty years, the Emperor Napoleon first set his 
foot upon the island. 

On the day previous all things had been made ready : the grand 
coffins and ornaments brought from France, and the articles necessary 
for the operation were carried to the valley of the Tomb. 

The operations commenced at midnight. The well-known friends 
of Napoleon before named and some other attendants of his, the 
chaplain and his acolytes, the doctor of the Belle Poule , the captains 
of the French ships, and Captain Alexander of the Engineers, the 
English Commissioner, attended the disinterment. His Royal High- 
ness Prince de Joinville could not be present because the workmen 
were under English command. 

The men worked for nine hours incessantly, when at length the 
earth was entirely removed from the vault, all the horizontal 
strata of masonry demolished, and the large slab which covered 
the place where the stone sarcophagus lay, removed by a crane. 
This outer coffin of stone was perfect, and could scarcely be said to 
be damp. 

“ As soon as the Abb£ Coquereau had recited the prayers, the 
coffin was removed with the greatest care, and carried by the 
engineer soldiers, bareheaded, into a tent that had been prepared 
for the purpose. After the religious ceremonies, the inner coffins 
were opened. The outermost coffin was slightly injured : then came 
one of lead, which was in good condition, and enclosed two others — 
one of tin and one of wood. The last coffin was lined inside with 
white satin, which, having become detached by the effect of time, 


680 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 


had fallen upon the body and enveloped it like a winding-sheet, and 
had become slightly attached to it. 

“It is difficult to describe with what anxiety and emotion those 
who were present waited for the moment which was to expose to 
them all that death had left of Napoleon. Notwithstanding the 
singular state of preservation of the tomb and coffins, we could 
scarcely hope to find anything but some misshapen remains of the 
least perishable part of the costume to evidence the identity of the 
body. But when Doctor Guillard raised the sheet of satin, an inde- 
scribable feeling of surprise and affection was expressed by the spec- 
tators, many of whom burst into tears. The Emperor was himself 
before their eyes ! The features of the face, though changed, were 
perfectly recognised ; the hands extremely beautiful ; his well-known 
costume had suffered but little, and the colours were easily dis- 
tinguished. The attitude itself was full of ease, and but for the 
fragments of the satin lining which covered, as with a fine gauze, 
several parts of the uniform, we might have believed we still saw 
Napoleon before us lying on his bed of state. General Bertrand 
and M. Marchand, who wfere both present at the interment, quickly 
pointed out the different articles which each had deposited in the 
coffin, and which remained in the precise position in which they had 
previously described them to be. 

“ The two inner coffins were carefully closed again ; the old 
leaden coffin was strongly blocked up with wedges of wood, and 
both were once more soldered up with the most minute precautions, 
under the direction of Doctor Guillard. These different operations 
being terminated, the ebony sarcophagus was closed as well as its 
oak case. On delivering the key of the ebony sarcophagus to 
Count de Chabot, the King’s Commissioner, Captain Alexander 
declared to him, in the name of the Governor, that this coffin, 
containing the mortal remains of the Emperor Napoleon, was con- 
sidered as at the disposal of the French Government from that day, 
and from the moment at which it should arrive at the place of 
embarkation, towards which it was about to be sent under the 
orders of General Middlemore. The King’s Commissioner replied 
that he was charged by his Government, and in its name, to accept 
the coffin from the hands of the British authorities, and that he 
and the other persons composing the French mission were ready to 
follow it to James Town, where the Prince de Joinville, superior 
commandant of the expedition, would be ready to receive it and 
conduct it on board his frigate. A car drawn by four horses, 
decked with funereal emblems, had been prepared before the arrival 
of the expedition, to receive the coffin, as well as a pall, and all the 
other suitable trappings of mourning. When the sarcophagus was 


ON THE DISINTERMENT AT ST. HELENA 681 

placed on the car, the whole was covered with a magnificent im- 
perial mantle brought from Paris, the four corners of which were 
borne by Generals Bertrand and Gourgaud, Baron Las Cases and 
M. Marchand. At half-past three o’clock the funeral car began to 
move, preceded by a chorister bearing the cross, and by the Abbd 
Coquereau. M. de Chabot acted as chief mourner. All the 
authorities of the island, all the principal inhabitants, and the 
whole of the garrison, followed in procession from the tomb to the 
quay. But with the exception of the artillerymen necessary to 
lead the horses, and occasionally support the car when descending 
some steep parts of the way, the places nearest the coffin were 
reserved for the French mission. General Middlemore, although 
in a weak state of health, persisted in following the whole way on 
foot, together with General Churchill, chief of the staff in India, 
who had arrived only two days before from Bombay. The immense 
weight of the coffins, and the unevenness of the road, rendered the 
utmost carefulness necessary throughout the whole distance. Colonel 
Trelawney commanded in person the small detachment of artillery- 
men who conducted the car, and, thanks to his great care, not the 
slightest accident took place. From the moment of departure to 
the arrival at the quay, the cannons of the forts and the Belle 
Poule fired minute-guns. After an hour’s march the rain ceased 
for the first time since the commencement of the operations, and 
on arriving in sight of the town, we found a brilliant sky and 
beautiful weather. From the morning the three French vessels of 
war had assumed the usual signs of deep mourning : their yards 
crossed and their flags lowered. Two French merchantmen, Bonne 
Amie and Indien , which had been in the roads for two days, 
had put themselves under the Prince’s orders, and followed during 
the ceremony all the manoeuvres of the Belle Poule . The forts 
of the town, and the houses of the consuls, had also their flags 
half-mast high. 

“ On arriving at the entrance of the town, the troops of the 
garrison and the militia formed in two lines as far as the extremity 
of the quay. According to the order for mourning prescribed for 
the English army, the men had their arms reversed and the officers 
had crape on their arms, with their swords reversed. All the in- 
habitants had been kept away from the line of march, but they 
lined the terraces commanding the town, and the streets were occu- 
pied only by the troops, the 91st Regiment being on the right and 
the militia on the left. The cortege advanced slowly between two 
ranks of soldiers to the sound of a funeral march, while the cannons 
of the forts were fired, as well as those of the Belle Poule and 
the Dolphin; the echoes being repeated a thousand times by the 


682 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 


rocks above James Town. After two hours’ march the cortege 
stopped at the end of the quay, where the Prince de Joinville had 
stationed himself at the head of the officers of the three French 
ships of war. The greatest official honours had been rendered by 
the English authorities to the memory of the Emperor — the most 
striking testimonials of respect had marked the adieu given by St. 
Helena to his coffin ; and from this moment the mortal remains of 
the Emperor were about to belong to France. When the funeral 
car stopped, the Prince de J oinville advanced alone, and in the 
presence of all around, who stood with their heads uncovered, 
received, in a solemn manner, the imperial coffin from the hands 
of General Middlemore. His Royal Highness then thanked the 
Governor, in the name of France, for all the testimonials of sym- 
pathy and respect with which the authorities and inhabitants of 
St. Helena had surrounded the memorable ceremonial. A cutter 
had been expressly prepared to receive the coffin. During the 
embarkation, which the Prince directed himself, the bands played 
funeral airs, and all the boats were stationed round with their 
oars shipped. The moment the sarcophagus touched the cutter, 
a magnificent Royal flag, which the ladies of Janies Town had 
embroidered for the occasion, was unfurled, and the Belle Poule 
immediately squared her masts and unfurled her colours. All the 
manoeuvres of the frigate were immediately followed by the other 
vessels. Our mourning had ceased with the exile of Napoleon, and 
the French naval division dressed itself out in all its festal orna- 
ments to receive the imperial coffin under the French flag. The 
sarcophagus was covered in the cutter with the imperial mantle. 
The Prince de Joinville placed himself at the rudder, Commander 
Guyet at the head of the boat ; Generals Bertrand and Gourgaud, 
Baron Las Cases, M. Marchand, and the Abbd Coquereau occupied 
the same places as during the march. Count Chabot and Com- 
mandant Hernoux were astern, a little in advance of the Prince. 
As soon as the cutter had pushed off from the quay, the batteries 
ashore fired a salute of twenty-one guns, and our ships returned the 
salute with all their artillery. Two other salutes were fired during 
the passage from the quay to the frigate; the cutter advancing 
very slowly, and surrounded by the other boats. At half-past six 
o’clock it reached the Belle Poule, all the men being on the yards 
with their hats in their hands. The Prince had had arranged on 
the deck a chapel, decked with flags and trophies of arms, the 
altar being placed at the foot of the mizenmast. The coffin, earned 
by our sailors, passed between two ranks of officers with drawn 
swords, and was placed on the quarter-deck. Absolution was pro- 
nounced by the Abbd Coquereau the same evening. Next day, at 


ON THE DISINTERMENT AT ST. HELENA 683 

ten o’clock, a solemn mass was celebrated on the deck, in presence 
of the officers and part of the crews of the ships. His Royal High- 
ness stood at the foot of the coffin. The cannon of the Favorite 
and Oreste fired minute-guns during this ceremony, which termi- 
nated by a solemn absolution ; and the Prince de Joinville, the 
gentlemen of the mission, the officers, and the premiers maitres 
of the ship, sprinkled holy water on the coffin. At eleven all the 
ceremonies of the Church were accomplished, all the honours done 
to a sovereign had been paid to the mortal remains of Napoleon. 
The coffin was carefully lowered between decks, and placed in the 
chapelle ardente which had been prepared at Toulon for its re- 
ception. At this moment, the vessels fired a last salute with all 
their artillery, and the frigate took in her flags, keeping up only 
her flag at the stern and the Royal standard at the maintopgallant- 
mast. On Sunday, the 18th, at eight in the morning, the Belle 
Poule quitted St. Helena with her precious deposit on board. 

“ During the whole time that the mission remained at James 
Town the best understanding never ceased to exist between the 
population of the island and the French. The Prince de Joinville 
and his companions met in all quarters and at all times with the 
greatest goodwill and the warmest testimonials of sympathy. The 
authorities and the inhabitants must have felt, no doubt, great 
regret at seeing taken away from their island the coffin that had 
rendered it so celebrated ; but they repressed their feelings with a 
courtesy that does honour to the frankness of their character.” 


n 


ON THE VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA 
TO PARIS 

N the 18th October the French frigate quitted the island 
with its precious burden on board. 



His Royal Highness the Captain acknowledged cordially 
the kindness and attention which he and his crew had received from 
the English authorities and the inhabitants of the island of St. 
Helena; nay, promised a pension to an old soldier who had been 
for many years the guardian of the Imperial tomb, and went so far 
as to take into consideration the petition of a certain lodging-house 
keeper, who prayed for a compensation for the loss which the removal 
of the Emperor’s body would occasion to her. And although it was 
not to be expected that the great French nation should forego its 
natural desire of recovering the remains of a hero so dear to it, for 
the sake of the individual interest of the landlady in question, it 
must have been satisfactory to her to find that the peculiarity 
of her position was so delicately appreciated by the august Prince 
who commanded the expedition, and carried away with him animce 
dimidium suce — the half of the genteel independence which she 
derived from the situation of her hotel. In a word, politeness and 
friendship could not be carried farther. The Prince’s realm and 
the landlady’s were bound together by the closest ties of amity. 
M. Thiers was Minister of France, the great patron of the English 
alliance. At London M. Guizot was the worthy representative of 
the French goodwill towards the British people ; and the remark 
frequently made by our orators at public dinners, that “ France and 
England, while united, might defy the world,” was considered as 
likely to hold good for many years to come, — the union that is. 
As for defying the world, that was neither here nor there ; nor did 
English politicians ever dream of doing any such thing, except perhaps 
at the tenth glass of port at “ Freemasons’ Tavern.” 

Little, however, did Mrs. Corbett, the St. Helena landlady, 
little did His Royal Highness Prince Ferdinand Philip Marie de 


VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA TO PARIS 685 


Joinville know what was going on in Europe all this time (when I 
say in Europe, I mean in Turkey, Syria, and Egypt) ; how clouds, 
in fact, were gathering upon what you call the political horizon; 
and how tempests were rising that were to blow to pieces our Anglo- 
Gallic temple of friendship. Oh, but it is sad to think that a single 
wicked old Turk should be the means of setting our two Christian 
nations by the ears ! 

Yes, my love, this disreputable old man had been for some time 
past the object of the disinterested attention of the great sovereigns 
of Europe. The Emperor Nicholas (a moral character, though 
following the Greek superstition, and adored for his mildness and 
benevolence of disposition), the Emperor Ferdinand, the King of 
Prussia, and our own gracious Queen, had taken such just offence 
at his conduct and disobedience towards a young and interesting 
sovereign, whose authority he had disregarded, whose fleet he had 
kidnapped, whose fair provinces he had pounced upon, that they 
determined to come to the aid of Abdul Medjid the First, Emperor 
of the Turks, and bring his rebellious vassal to reason. In this 
project the French nation was invited to join ; but they refused the 
invitation, saying, that it was necessary for the maintenance of the 
balance of power in Europe that His Highness Mehemet Ali should 
keep possession of what by hook or by crook he had gotten, and 
that they would have no hand in injuring him. But why continue 
this argument, which you have read in the newspapers for many 
months past? You, my dear, must know as well as I, that the 
balance of power in Europe could not possibly be maintained in any 
such way ; and though, to be sure, for the last fifteen years, the 
progress of the old robber has not made much difference to us in 
the neighbourhood of Russell Square, and the battle of Nezib did 
not in the least affect our taxes, our homes, our institutions, or the 
price of butcher’s meat, yet there is no knowing what might have 
happened had Mehemet Ali been allowed to remain quietly as he 
was ; and the balance of power in Europe might have been — the 
deuce knows where. 

Here, then, in a nutshell, you have the whole matter in dispute. 
While Mrs. Corbett and the Prince de Joinville were innocently 
interchanging compliments at St. Helena, — bang ! bang ! Commodore 
Napier was pouring broadsides into Tyre and Sidon ; our gallant 
navy was storming breaches and routing armies ; Colonel Hodges 
had seized upon the green standard of Ibrahim Pasha ; and the 
powder magazine of St. John of Acre was blown up sky-high, with 
eighteen hundred Egyptian soldiers in company with it. The French 
said that Vor Anglais had achieved all these successes, and no doubt 
believed that the poor fellows at Acre were bribed to a man. 


686 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 


It must have been particularly unpleasant to a high-minded 
nation like the French — at the very moment when the Egyptian 
affair and the balance of Europe had been settled in this abrupt 
way — to find out all of a sudden that the Pasha of Egypt was their 
dearest friend and ally. They had suffered in the person of their 
friend; and though, seeing that the dispute was ended, and the 
territory out of his hand, they could not hope to get it back for 
him, or to aid him in any substantial way, yet Monsieur Thiers 
determined, just as a mark of politeness to the Pasha, to fight all 
Europe for maltreating him, — all Europe. England included. He 
was bent on war, and an immense majority of the nation went with 
him. He called for a million of soldiers, and would have had them 
too, had not the King been against the project and delayed the 
completion of it at least for a time. 

Of these great European disputes Captain Joinville received a 
notification while he was at sea on board his frigate : as we find 
by the official account which has been published of his mission. 

“ Some days after quitting St. Helena,” says that document, 
“ the expedition fell in with a ship coming from Europe, and was 
thus made acquainted with the warlike rumours then afloat, by 
which a collision with the English marine was rendered possible. 
The Prince de Joinville immediately assembled the officers of the 
Belle Poule , to deliberate on an event so unexpected and 
important. 

“ The council of war having expressed its opinion that it was 
necessary at all events to prepare for an energetic defence, prepara- 
tions were made to place in battery all the guns that the frigate 
could bring to bear against the enemy. The provisional cabins 
that had been fitted up in the battery were demolished, the parti- 
tions removed, and, with all the elegant furniture of the cabins, 
flung into the sea. The Prince de Joinville was the first ‘ to exe- 
cute himself,’ and the frigate soon found itself armed with six or 
eight more guns. 

“ That part of the ship where these cabins had previously been, 
went by the name of Lacedaemon ; everything luxurious being 
banished to make way for what was useful. 

“ Indeed, all persons who were on board agree in saying that 
Monseigneur the Prince de Joinville most worthily acquitted him- 
self of the great and honourable mission which had been confided 
to him. All affirm not only that the commandant of the expedition 
did everything at St. Helena which as a Frenchman he was bound 
to do in order that the remains of the Emperor should receive all 
the honours due to them, but moreover that he accomplished his 


VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA TO PARIS 687 

mission with all the measured solemnity, all the pious and severe 
dignity, that the son of the Emperor himself would have shown 
upon a like occasion. The commandant had also comprehended 
that the remains of the Emperor must never fall into the hands of 
the stranger, and being himself decided rather to sink his ship than 
to give up his precious deposit, he had inspired every one about him 
with the same energetic resolution that he had himself taken 
1 against an extreme eventuality .’” 

Monseigneur, my dear, is really one of the finest young fellows 
it is possible to see. A tall, broad-chested, slim-waisted, brown- 
faced, dark-eyed young prince, with a great beard (and other martial 
qualities no doubt) beyond his years. As he strode into the Chapel 
of the Invalides on Tuesday at the head of his men, he made no 
small impression, I can tell you, upon the ladies assembled to 
witness the ceremony. Nor are the crew of the Belle Poule 
less agreeable to look at than their commander. A more clean, 
smart, active, well-limbed set of lads never “ did dance ” upon the 
deck of the famed Belle Poule in the days of her memorable 
combat with the Saucy Arethusa. 

“ These five hundred sailors,” says a French newspaper, speaking 
of them in the proper French way, “sword in hand, in the severe 
costume of board-ship (la severe tenue du bord), seemed proud of 
the mission that they had just accomplished. Their blue jackets, 
their red cravats, the turned-down collars of blue shirts edged with 
white, above all , their resolute appearance and martial air, gave a 
favourable specimen of the present state of our marine — a marine 
of which so much might be expected, and from which so little has 
been required.” — Le Commerce , 16th December. 

There they were, sure enough ; a cutlass upon one hip, a pistol 
on the other — a gallant set of young men indeed. I doubt, to be 
sure, whether the severe tenue du bord requires that the seamen 
should be always furnished with these ferocious weapons, which in 
sundry maritime manoeuvres, such as going to sleep in your 
hammock, for instance, or twinkling a binnacle, or luffing a marlin- 
spike, or keel-hauling a maintopgallant (all naval operations, my 
dear, which any seafaring novelist will explain to you), — I doubt, 
I say, whether these weapons are always worn by sailors, and have 
heard that they are commonly, and very sensibly too, locked up 
until they are wanted. Take another example : suppose artillery- 
men were incessantly compelled to walk about with a pyramid of 
twenty-four-pound shot in one pocket, a lighted fuse and a few 


688 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

barrels of gunpowder in the other — these objects would, as you 
may imagine, greatly inconvenience the artilleryman in his peaceful 
state. 

The newspaper writer is therefore most likely mistaken in 
saying that the seamen were in the severe tenv^e du bord, or by 
“ bord ” meaning “ abordage ” — which operation they were not, in 
a harmless church, hung round with velvet and wax-candles, and 
filled with ladies, surely called upon to perform. Nor indeed can 
it be reasonably supposed that the picked men of the crack frigate 
of the French navy are a “ good specimen ” of the rest of the French 
marine, any more than a cuirassed colossus at the gate of the Horse 
Guards can be considered a fair sample of the British soldier of the 
line. The sword and pistol, however, had no doubt their effect — 
the former was in its sheath, the latter not loaded, and I hear that 
the French ladies are quite in raptures with these charming loups- 
de-mer. 

Let the warlike accoutrements then pass. It was necessary, 
perhaps, to strike the Parisians with awe, and therefore the crew 
was armed in this fierce fashion; but why should the Captain 
begin to swagger as well as his men 1 and why did the Prince de 
Joinville lug out sword and pistol so early % or why, if he thought 
fit to make preparations, should the official journals brag of them 
afterwards as proofs of his extraordinary courage ? 

Here is the case. The English Government makes him a 
present of the bones of Napoleon : English workmen work for nine 
hours without ceasing, and dig the coffin out of the ground : the 
English Commissioner hands over the key of the box to the French 
representative, Monsieur Chabot : English horses carry the funeral- 
car down to the sea-shore, accompanied by the English Governor, 
who has actually left his bed to walk in the procession and to do 
the French nation honour. 

After receiving and acknowledging these politenesses, the French 
captain takes his charge on board, and the first thing we afterwards 
hear of him is the determination “ qu’il a su faite passer ” into all 
his crew, to sink rather than yield up the body of the Emperor 
“ aux mains de l’dtranger ” — into the hands of the foreigner. My 
dear Monseigneur, is not this par trop fort ? Suppose “the 
foreigner ” had wanted the coffin, could he not have kept it ? Why 
show this uncalled-for valour, this extraordinary alacrity at sinking ? 
Sink or blow yourself up as much as you please, but your Royal 
Highness must see that the genteel thing would have been to wait 
until you were asked to do so, before you offended good-natured 
honest people, who — Heaven help them ! — have never shown them- 
selves at all murderously inclined towards you. A man knocks 


VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA TO PARIS 689 

down his cabins forsooth, throws his tables and chairs overboard, 
runs guns into the portholes, and calls “ le quartier du bord oh 
existaient ces chambres, Lacedaemon.” Lacedaemon ! There is a 
province, 0 Prince, in your Royal father’s dominions, a fruitful 
parent of heroes in its time, which would have given a much better 
nickname to your quartier du bord: you should have called it 
Gascony. 

“ Sooner than strike we’ll all ex-pi-er 
On board of the Bell-e Pou-le.” 


Such fanfaronnading is very well on the part of Tom Dibdin, but a 
person of your Royal Highness’s “ pious and severe dignity ” should 
have been above it. If you entertained an idea that war was immi- 
nent, would it not have been far better to have made your prepara- 
tions in quiet, and when you found the war-rumour blown over, to 
have said nothing about what you intended to do Fie upon such 
cheap Lacedsem onianism ! There is no poltroon in the world but 
can brag about what he would have done : however, to do your 
Royal Highness’s nation justice, they brag and fight too. 

This narrative, my dear Miss Smith, as you will have remarked, 
is not a simple tale merely, but is accompanied by many moral and 
pithy remarks which form its chief value, in the writer’s eyes at 
least, and the above account of the sham Lacedaemon on board the 
Belle Poule has a double-barrelled morality, as I conceive. Besides 
justly reprehending the French propensity towards braggadocio, it 
proves very strongly a point on which I am the only statesman in 
Europe w T ho has strongly insisted. In the “ Paris Sketch Book ” 
it was stated that the French hate us. They hate us, my dear, 
profoundly and desperately, and there never was such a hollow 
humbug in the world as the French alliance. Men get a character 
for patriotism in France merely by hating England. Directly they 
go into strong opposition (where, you know, people are always more 
patriotic than on the ministerial side), they appeal to the people, 
and have their hold on the people, by hating England in common 
with them. Whyl It is a long story, and the hatred may be 
accounted for by many reasons, both political and social. Any time 
these eight hundred years this ill-will has been going on, and has 
been transmitted on the French side from father to son. On the 
French side, not on ours : we have had no, or few, defeats to com- 
plain of, no invasions to make us angry ; but you see that to discuss 
such a period of time would demand a considerable number of pages, 
and for the present we will avoid the examination of the question. 

But they hate us, that is the long and short of it ; and you see 
how this hatred has exploded just now, not upon a serious cause of 


690 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

difference, but upon an argument : for what is the Pasha of Egypt 
to us or them but a mere abstract opinion ? For the same reason 
the Little-endians in Lilliput abhorred the Big-endians; and I beg 
you to remark how His Royal Highness Prince Ferdinand Mary, 
upon hearing that this argument was in the course of debate 
between us, straightway flung his furniture overboard and expressed 
a preference for sinking his ship rather than yielding it to the 
Stranger. Nothing came of this wish of his, to be sure ; but the 
intention is everything. Unlucky circumstances denied him the 
power, but he had the will. 

Well, beyond this disappointment, the Prince de Joinville had 
nothing to complain of during the voyage, which terminated happily 
by the arrival of the Belle Poule at Cherbourg, on the 30th of 
November, at five o’clock in the morning. A telegraph made the 
glad news known at Paris, where the Minister of the Interior, 
Tanndguy-Duchatel (you will read the name, madam, in the old 
Anglo-French wars), had already made “ immense preparations ” for 
receiving the body of Napoleon. 

The entry was fixed for the 15th of December. 

On the 8th of December at Cherbourg the body was transferred 
from the Belle Poule frigate to the Normandie steamer. On which 
occasion the Mayor of Cherbourg deposited, in the name of his town, 
a gold laurel branch upon the coffin — which was saluted by the forts 
and dykes of the place with one thousand guns ! There was a 
treat for the inhabitants. 

There was on board the steamer a splendid receptacle for the 
coffin : “ a temple with twelve pillars and a dome to cover it from 
the wet and moisture, surrounded with velvet hangings and silver 
fringes. At the head was a gold cross, at the foot a gold lamp : 
other lamps were kept constantly burning within, and vases of 
burning incense were hung around. An altar, hung with velvet 
and silver, was at the mizen-mast of the vessel, and four silver 
eagles at each corner of the altar.” It was a compliment at once 
to Napoleon and— excuse me for saying so, but so the facts are — to 
Napoleou and to God Almighty. 

Three steamers, the Normandie , the Ve'loce, and the Courrier , 
formed the expedition from Cherbourg to Havre, at which place 
they arrived on the evening of the 9th of December, and where the 
Ve'loce was replaced by the Seine steamer, having in tow one of the 
state-coasters, which was to fire the salute at the moment when the 
body was transferred into one of the vessels belonging to the Seine. 

The expedition passed Havre the same night, and came to anchor 
at Yal de la Haye, on the Seine, three leagues below Rouen. 

Here the next morning (10th), it was met by the flotilla of 


VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA TO PARIS 69 1 

steamboats of the Upper Seine, consisting of the three Dorades, the 
three E toiles, the Elbeuvien , the Parisien, the Parisienne, and the 
Zampa. The Prince de Joinville, and the persons of the expedition, 
embarked immediately in the flotilla, which arrived the same day at 
Rouen. 

At Rouen salutes were fired, the National Guard on both sides 
of the river paid military honours to the body ; and over the middle 
of the suspension-bridge a magnificent cenotaph was erected, decorated 
with flags, fasces, violet hangings, and the Imperial arms. Before 
the cenotaph the expedition stopped, and the absolution was given 
by the archbishop and the clergy. After a couple of hours’ stay, the 
expedition proceeded to Pont de 1’ Arche. On the 11th it reached 
Vernon, on the 12th Mantes, on the 13th Maisons-sur-Seine. 

“ Everywhere,” says the official account from which the above 
particulars are borrowed, “ the authorities, the National Guard, and 
the people flocked to the passage of the flotilla, desirous to render 
the honours due to his glory, which is the glory of France. In 
seeing its hero return, the nation seemed to have found its Palladium 
again, — the sainted relics of victory.” 

At length, on the 14th, the coffin was transferred from the 
Dorade steamer on board the Imperial vessel arrived from Paris. 
In the evening the Imperial vessel arrived at Courbevoie, which was 
the last stage of the journey. 

Here it was that Monsieur Guizot went to examine the vessel, 
and was very nearly flung into the Seine, as report goes, by the 
patriots assembled there. It is now lying on the river, near the 
Invalides, amidst the drifting ice, whither the people of Paris are 
flocking out to see it. 

The vessel is of a very elegant antique form, and I can give you 
on the Thames no better idea of it than by requesting you to fancy 
an immense wherry, of which the stern has been cut straight off, 
and on which a temple on steps has been elevated. At the figure- 
head is an immense gold eagle, and at the stern is a little terrace, 
filled with evergreens and a profusion of banners. Upon pedestals 
along the sides of the vessel are tripods in which incense was burned, 
and underneath them are garlands of flowers called here “ immortals.” 
Four eagles surmount the temple, and a great scroll or garland, held 
in their beaks, surrounds it. It is hung with velvet and gold ; four 
gold caryatides support the entry of it ; and in the midst, upon a 
large platform hung with velvet, and bearing the Imperial arms, 
stood the coffin.. A steamboat, carrying two hundred musicians 
playing funereal marches and military symphonies, preceded this 
magnificent vessel to Courbevoie, where a funereal temple was 
erected, and “a statue of Notre Dame de Grace, before which the 


692 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

seamen of the Belle Poule inclined themselves, in order to thank 
her for having granted them a noble and glorious voyage.” 

Early on the morning of the 15th December, amidst clouds of 
incense, and thunder of cannon, and innumerable shouts of people, 
the coffin was transferred from the barge, and carried by the seamen 
of the Belle Poule to the Imperial Car. 

And now having conducted our hero almost to the gates of 
Paris, I must tell you what preparations were made in the capital 
to receive him. 

Ten days before the arrival of the body, as you walked across the 
Deputies’ Bridge, or over the Esplanade of the Invalides, you saw on 
the bridge eight, on the Esplanade thirty-two, mysterious boxes erected, 
wherein a couple of score of sculptors were at work night and day. 

In the middle of the Invalides Avenue, there used to stand, 
on a kind of shabby fountain or pump, a bust of Lafayette, crowned 
with some dirty wreaths of “ immortals,” and looking down at the 
little streamlet which occasionally dribbled below him. The spot 
of ground was now clear, and Lafayette and the pump had been 
consigned to some cellar, to make way for the mighty procession 
that was to pass over the place of their habitation. 

Strange coincidence ! If I had been Mr. Victor Hugo, my dear, 
or a poet of any note, I would, in a few hours, have made an im- 
promptu concerning that Lafayette-crowned pump, and compared its 
lot now to the fortune of its patron some fifty years back. From 
him then issued, as from his fountain now, a feeble dribble of pure 
words ; then, as now, some faint circle of disciples were willing to 
admire him. Certainly in the midst of the war and storm without, 
this pure fount of eloquence went dribbling, dribbling on, till of a 
sudden the revolutionary workmen knocked down statue and foun- 
tain, and the gorgeous Imperial cavalcade trampled over the spot 
where they stood. 

As for the Champs Elysdes, there was no end to the prepara- 
tions : the first day you saw a couple of hundred scaffoldings erected 
at intervals between the handsome gilded gas-lamps that at present 
ornament that avenue ; next day, all these scaffoldings were filled 
with brick and mortar. Presently, over the bricks and mortar 
rose pediments of statues, legs of goddesses, legs and bodies of 
goddesses ; legs, bodies, and busts of goddesses. Finally, on the 
13th December, goddesses complete. On the 14th they were 
painted marble-colour ; and the basements of wood and canvas 
on which they stood were made to resemble the same costly 
material. The funereal urns were ready to receive the frankincense 
and precious odours which were to burn in them. A vast number 


VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA TO PARIS 693 

of white columns stretched down the avenue, each hearing a bronze 
buckler, on w T hich was written, in gold letters, one of the victories 
of the Emperor, and each decorated with enormous Imperial flagp. 
On these columns golden eagles were placed ; and the newspapers 
did not fail to remark the ingenious position in which the royal 
birds had been set ; for while those on the right-hand side of the 
way had their heads turned towards the procession, as if to watch 
its coming, those on the left were looking exactly the other way, as 
if to regard its progress. Do not fancy I am joking : this point was 
gravely and emphatically urged in many newspapers ; and I do be- 
lieve no mortal Frenchman ever thought it anything but sublime. 

Do not interrupt me, sweet Miss Smith. I feel that you are 
angry. I can see from here the pouting of your lips, and know 
what you are going to say. You are going to say, “ I will read 
no more of this Mr. Titmarsh ; there is no subject, however solemn, 
but he treats it with flippant irreverence, and no character, how- 
ever great, at whom he does not sneer.” 

Ah, my dear ! you are young now and enthusiastic ; and your 
Titmarsh is old, very old, sad, and grey-headed. I have seen a 
poor mother buy a halfpenny wreath at the gate of Montmartre 
burying-ground, and go with it to her little child’s grave, and hang 
it there over the little humble stone ; and if ever you saw me scorn 
the mean offering of the poor shabby creature, I will give you leave 
to be as angry as you will. They say that on the passage of 
Napoleon’s coffin down the Seine, old soldiers and country people 
walked miles from their villages just to catch a sight of the boat 
which carried his body, and to kneel down on the shore and pray 
for him. God forbid that we should quarrel with such prayers and 
sorrow, or question their sincerity. Something great and good 
must have been in this man, something loving and kindly, that 
has kept his name so cherished in the popular memory, and gained 
him such lasting reverence and affection. 

But, madam, one may respect the dead without feeling awe- 
stricken at the plumes of the hearse ; and I see no reason why one 
should sympathise with the train of mutes and undertakers, how- 
ever deep may be their mourning. Look, I pray you, at the 
manner in which the French nation has performed Napoleon’s 
funeral. Time out of mind, nations have raised, in memory of 
their heroes, august mausoleums, grand pyramids, splendid statues 
of gold or marble, sacrificing whatever they had that was most 
costly and rare, or that was most beautiful in art, as tokens of 
their respect and love for the dead person. What a fine example of 
this sort of sacrifice is that (recorded in a book of which Simplicity 
is the great characteristic) of the poor woman who brought her pot 


694 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

of precious ointment — her all, and laid it at the feet of the Object 
which, upon earth, she most loved and respected. “ Economists 
and calculators ” there were even in those days who quarrelled with 
the manner in which the poor woman lavished so much “ capital ” ; 
but you will remember how nobly and generously the sacrifice was 
appreciated, and how the economists were put to shame. 

With regard to the funeral ceremony that has just been per- 
formed here, it is said that a famous public personage and statesman, 
Monsieur Thiers indeed, spoke with the bitterest indignation of the 
general style of the preparations, and of their mean and tawdry char- 
acter. He would have had a pomp as magnificent, he said, as that 
of Rome at the triumph of Aurelian ; he would have decorated the 
bridges and avenues through which the procession was to pass, with 
the costliest marbles and the finest works of art, and have had them 
to remain there for ever as monuments of the great funeral. 

The economists and calculators might here interpose with a 
great deal of reason ; for indeed there was no reason why a nation 
should impoverish itself to do honour to the memory of an indi- 
vidual for whom, after all, it can feel but a qualified enthusiasm : but 
it surely might have employed the large sum voted for the purpose 
more wisely and generously, and recorded its respect for Napoleon 
by some worthy and lasting memorial, rather than have erected 
yonder thousand vain heaps of tinsel, paint, and plaster, that are 
already cracking and crumbling in the frost at three days old. 

Scarcely one of the statues, indeed, deserves to last a month : 
some are odious distortions and caricatures, which never should have 
been allowed to , stand for a moment. On the very day of the fete, 
the wind was shaking the canvas pedestals, and the flimsy wood- 
work had begun to gape and give way. At a little distance, to 
be sure, you could not see the cracks : and pedestals and statues 
looked like marble. At some distance you could not tell but that 
the wreaths and eagles were gold embroidery, and not gilt paper 
—the great tricolour flags damask, and not striped calico. One 
would think that these sham splendours betokened sham respect, 
if one had not known that the name of Napoleon is held in real 
reverence, and observed somewhat of the character of the nation. 
Real feelings they have, but they distort them by exaggeration : 
real courage, which they render ludicrous by intolerable braggadocio; 
and 1 think the above official account of the Prince de Joinville’s 
proceedings of the manner in which the Emperor’s remains have 
been treated in their voyage to the capital, and of the prepara- 
tions made to receive him in it, will give my dear Miss Smith 
some means of understanding the social and moral condition of this 
worthy people of France. 


m 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 


HALL I tell you, my dear, that when Francis woke me at a 
very early hour on this eventful morning, while the keen stars 



were still glittering overhead, a half-moon, as sharp as a razor, 
beaming in the frosty sky, and a wicked north wind blowing that 
blew the blood out of one’s fingers, and froze your leg as you put it 
out of bed shall I tell you, my dear, that when Francis called me 
and said, “ V’lh vot’ cafd, Monsieur Titemasse, buvez-le, tiens, il est tout 
chaud,” I felt myself, after imbibing the hot breakfast, so comfortable 
under three blankets and a mackintosh, that for at least a quarter 
of an hour no man. in Europe could say whether Titmarsh would or 
would not be present at the burial of the Emperor Napoleon. 

Besides, my dear, the cold, there was another reason for 
doubting. Did the French nation, or did they not, intend to offer 
up some of us English over the Imperial grave 1 ? And were the 
games to be concluded by a massacre ? It was said in the news- 
papers, that Lord Granville had despatched circulars to all the 
English residents in Paris, begging them to keep their homes. 
The French journals announced this news, and warned us chari- 
tably of the fate intended for us. Had Lord Granville written? 
Certainly not to me. Or had he written to all except me ? And 
was I the victim — the doomed one ? — to be seized directly I showed 
my face in the Champs Elysdes, and torn in pieces by French 
Patriotism to the frantic chorus of the “ Marseillaise ” ? Depend 
on it, madam, that high and low in this city on Tuesday were not 
altogether at their ease, and that the bravest felt no small tremor ! 
And be sure of this, that as His Majesty Louis Philippe took his 
nightcap off his Royal head that morning, he prayed heartily that 
he might, at night, put it on in safety. 

Well, as my companion and I came out of doors, being bound 
for the Church of the Invalides, for which a Deputy had kindly 
furnished us with tickets, we saw the very prettiest sight of the 
whole day, and I can’t refrain from mentioning it to my dear 
tender-hearted Miss Smith. 

In the same house where I live (but about five stories nearer the 


696 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

ground), lodges an English family, consisting of — 1. A great-grand- 
mother, a hale handsome old lady of seventy, the very best-dressed and 
neatest old lady in Paris. 2. A grandfather and grandmother, toler- 
ably young to bear that title. 3. A daughter. And 4. Two little 
great-grand, or grand-children, that may be of the age of three and 
one, and belong to a son and daughter who are in India. The grand- 
father, who is as proud of his wife as he was thirty years ago when 
he married, and pays her compliments still twice or thrice in a day, 
and when he leads her into a room looks round at the persons 
assembled, and says in his heart, “ Here, gentlemen, here is my wife 
— show me such another woman in England,” — this gentleman had 
hired a room on the Champs Elysdes, for he would not have his wife 
catch cold by exposing her to the balconies in the open air. 

When I came to the street, I found the family assembled in the 
following order of march : — 

No. 1, the great-grandmother, walking daintily along, sup- 
ported by No. 3, her granddaughter. 

A nurse carrying No. 4 junior, who was sound asleep : and 

a huge basket containing saucepans, bottles of milk, 
parcels of infants’ food, certain dimity napkins, a child’s 
coral, and a little horse belonging to No. 4 senior. 

A servant bearing a basket of condiments. 

No. 2, grandfather, spick and span, clean shaved, hat 

brushed, white buckskin gloves, bamboo cane, brown 
great-coat, walking as upright and solemn as may be, 
having his lady on his arm. 

No. 4, senior, with mottled legs and a tartan costume, 

who was frisking about between his grandpapa’s legs, 
who heartily wished him at home. 

“ My dear,” his face seemed to say to his lady, “ I think you 
might have left the little things in the nursery, for we shall have 
to squeeze through a terrible crowd in the Champs Elysdes.” 

The lady was going out for a day’s pleasure, and her face was 
full of care : she had to look first after her old mother who was 
walking ahead, then after No. 4 junior with the nurse — he might 
fall into all sorts of danger, wake up, cry, catch cold ; nurse might 
slip down, or Heaven knows what. Then she had to look her 
husband in the face, who had gone to such expense and been so 
kind for her sake, and make that gentleman believe she was 
thoroughly happy ; and, finally, she had to keep an eye upon No. 
4 senior, who, as she was perfectly certain, was about in two 
minutes to be lost for ever, or trampled to pieces in the crowd. 

These events took place in a quiet little street leading into the 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 697 

Champs Elysdes, the entry of which we had almost reached by this 
time. The four detachments above described, which had been strag- 
gling a little in their passage down the street, closed up at the end of 

it, and stood for a moment huddled together. No. 3, Miss X , 

began speaking to her companion the great-grandmother. 

“ Hush, my dear,” said that old lady, looking round alarmed at 
her daughter. “ Speak French .” And she straightway began nervously 
to make a speech which she supposed to be in that language, but 
which was as much like French as Iroquois. The whole secret was out : 
you could read it in the grandmother’s face, who was doing all she 
could to keep from crying, and looked as frightened as she dared to 
look. The two elder ladies had settled between them that there was 
going to be a general English slaughter that day, and had brought the 
children with them, so that they might all be murdered in company. 

Cod bless you, 0 women, moist-eyed and tender-hearted ! In 
those gentle silly tears of yours there is something touches one, be 
they never so foolish. I don’t think there were many such natural 
drops shed that day as those which just made their appearance in 
the grandmother’s eyes, and then went back again as if they had 
been ashamed of themselves, while the good lady and her little troop 
walked across the road. Think how happy she will be when night 
comes, and there has been no murder of English, and the brood is 
all nestled under her wings sound asleep, and she is lying awake 
thanking God that the day and its pleasures and pains are over. 
Whilst we were considering these things, the grandfather had suddenly 
elevated No. 4 senior upon his left shoulder, and I saw the tartan 
hat of that young gentleman, and the bamboo-cane which had been 
transferred to him, high over the heads of the crowd on the opposite 
side through which the party moved. 

After this little procession had passed away — you may laugh at 
it, but upon my word and conscience, Miss Smith, I saw nothing in 
the course of the day which affected me more — after this little pro- 
cession had passed away, the other came, accompanied by gun-banging, 
flag-waving, incense-burning, trumpets pealing, drums rolling, and at 
the close, received by the voice of six hundred choristers, sweetly m odu- 
lated to the tones of fifteen score of fiddlers. Then you saw horse and 
foot, jackboots and bearskin, cuirass and bayonet, national guard and 
line, marshals and generals, all over gold, smart aides-de-camp gallop- 
ing about like mad, and high in the midst of all, riding on his golden 
buckler, Solomon in all his glory, forsooth — Imperial Caesar, with 
his crown over his head, laurels and standards waving about his gor- 
geous chariot, and a million of people looking on in wonder and awe. 

His Majesty the Emperor and King reclined on his shield, with 


698 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

his head a little elevated. His Majesty’s skull is voluminous, his 
forehead broad and large. We remarked that His Imperial Majesty’s 
brow was of a yellowish colour, which appearance was also visible 
about the orbits of the eyes. He kept his eyelids constantly closed, 
by which we had the opportunity of observing that the upper lids 
were garnished with eyelashes. Years and climate have effected 
upon the face of this great monarch only a trifling alteration ; we 
may say, indeed, that Time has touched His Imperial and Royal 
Majesty with the lightest feather in his wing. In the nose of the 
Conqueror of Austerlitz we remarked very little alteration : it is of 
the beautiful shape which we remember it possessed five-and-twenty 
years since, ere unfortunate circumstances induced him to leave us 
for a while. The nostril and the tube of the nose appear to have 
undergone some slight alteration, but in examining a belov.ed object 
the eye of affection is perhaps too critical. Vive V Empereur ! the 
soldier of Marengo is among us again. His lips are thinner, perhaps, 
than they were before ! how white his teeth are ! you can just see 
three of them pressing his under lip ; and pray remark the fulness 
of his cheeks and the round contour of his chin. Oh, those beautiful 
white hands ! many a time have they patted the cheek of poor 
Josephine, and played with the black ringlets of her hair. She is dead 
now, and cold, poor creature ; and so are Hortense and bold Eugene, 
“than whom the world never saw a curtier knight,” as was said of 
King Arthur’s Sir Lancelot. What a day would it have been for 
those three could they but have lived until now, and seen their 
hero returning! Where’s Ney ? His wife sits looking out from 
Monsieur Flahaut’s window yonder, but the bravest of the brave is 
not with her. Murat, too, is absent : honest Joachim loves the 
Emperor at heart, and repents that he was not at Waterloo : who 
knows but that at the sight of the handsome swordsman those 
stubborn English “canaille” would have given way 1 ? A king, Sire, 
is, you know, the greatest of slaves — State affairs of consequence — 
His Majesty the King of Naples is detained no doubt. When we 
last saw the King, however, and his Highness the Prince of Elchingen, 
they looked to have as good health as ever they had in their lives, 
and we heard each of them calmly calling out “ Fire ! ” as they have 
done in numberless battles before. 

Is it possible ? can the Emperor forget ? We don’t like to break 
it to him, but has he forgotten all about the farm at Pizzo, and the 
garden of the Observatory? Yes, truly : there he lies on his golden 
shield, never stirring, never so much as lifting his eyelids, or opening 
his lips any wider. 

0 vanitas vanitatum ! Here is our Sovereign in all his glory, 
and they fired a thousand guns at Cherbourg, and never woke him ! 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 


699 

However, we are advancing matters by several hours, and you 
must give just as much credence as you please to the subjoined 
remarks concerning the procession, seeing that your humble servant 
could not possibly be present at it, being bound for the church 
elsewhere. 

Programmes, however, have been published of the affair, and 
your vivid fancy will not fail to give life to them, and the whole 
magnificent train will pass before you. 

Fancy, then, that the guns are fired at Neuilly : the body landed 
at daybreak from the funereal barge, and transferred to the car ; and 
fancy the car, a huge J uggernaut of a machine, rolling on four wheels 
of an antique shape, which supported a basement adorned with 
golden eagles, banners, laurels, and velvet hangings. Above the 
hangings stand twelve golden statues with raised arms supporting 
a huge shield, on which the coffin lay. On the coffin was the 
Imperial crown, covered with violet velvet crape, and the whole 
vast machine was drawn by horses in superb housings, led by valets 
in the Imperial livery. 

Fancy at the head of the procession, first of all — 

The Gendarmerie of the Seine, with their trumpets and 
Colonel. 

The Municipal Guard (horse), with their trumpets, standard, 
and Colonel. 

Two squadrons of the 7th Lancers, with Colonel, standard,- 
and music. 

The Commandant of Paris and his Staff. 

A battalion of Infantry of the Line, with their flag, sappers, 
drums, music, and Colonel. 

The Municipal Guard (foot), with flag, drums, and Colonel, 

The Sapper-pumpers, with ditto. 

Then picture to yourself more squadrons of Lancers and 
Cuirassiers. The General of the Division and his Staff ; 
all officers of all arms employed at Paris, and un- 
attached; the Military School of St. Cyr, the Poly- 
technic School, the School of the Etat-Major; and the 
Professors and Staff of each. Go on imagining more 
battalions of Infantry, of Artillery, companies of En- 
gineers, squadrons of Cuirassiers, ditto of the Cavalry, 
of the National Guard, and the first and second legions 
of ditto. 

Fancy a carriage, containing the Chaplain of the St. Helena 
expedition, the only clerical gentleman that formed a part 
of the procession. 


700 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 


Fancy you hear the funereal music, and then figure in your 
mind’s eye — 

The Emperor’s Charger, that is, Napoleon’s own saddle 
and bridle (when First Consul), upon a white horse. The 
saddle (which has been kept ever since in the Garde 
Meuble of the Crown) is of amaranth velvet, embroidered 
in gold : the holsters and housings are of the same rich 
material. On them you remark the attributes of War, 
Commerce, Science, and Art. The bits and stirrups are 
silver-gilt chased. Over the stirrups, two eagles were 
placed at the time of the Empire. The horse was covered 
with a violet crape embroidered with golden bees. 

After this, came more Soldiers, General Officers, Sub- 
Officers, Marshals, and what was said to be the prettiest 
sight almost of the whole, the banners of the eighty-six 
Departments of France. These are due to the invention of 
Monsieur Thiers, and were to have been accompanied by 
federates from each Department. But the Government very 
wisely mistrusted this and some other projects of Monsieur 
Thiers; and as for a federation, my dear, it has been tried. 
Next comes — 

His Royal Highness the Prince de Joinville. 

The 500 sailors of the Belle Poule marching in double 
file on each side of 

THE CAR. 

[Hush ! the enormous crowd thrills as it passes, and only 
some few voices cry Vive V Empereur ! Shining golden in 
the frosty sun — with hundreds of thousands of eyes upon it, 
from houses and housetops, from balconies, black, purple, 
and tricolour, from tops of leafless trees, from behind long 
lines of glittering bayonets under shakos and bearskin caps, 
from behind the Line and the National Guard again, pushing, 
struggling, heaving, panting, eager, the heads of an 
enormous multitude stretching out to meet and 
follow it, amidst long avenues of columns and 
statues gleaming white, of standards rain- 
bow-coloured, of golden eagles, of 
pale funereal urns, of discharg- 
ing odours amidst huge 
volumes of pitch-black 
smoke, 

THE GREAT IMPERIAL CHARIOT 

ROLLS MAJESTICALLY ON. 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 701 

The cords of the pall are held by two Marshals, an Admiral, 
and General Bertrand ; who are followed by — 

The Prefects of the Seine and Police, &c. 

The Mayors of Paris, &c. 

The Members of the Old Guard, &c. 

A Squadron of Light Dragoons, &c. 

Lieutenant-General Schneider, &c. 

More cavalry, more infantry, more artillery, more everybody; 
and as the procession passes, the Line and the National 
Guard forming line on each side of the road fall in and 
follow it, until it arrives at the Church of the Invalides, 
where the last honours are to be paid to it.] 

Among the company assembled under the dome of that edifice, 
the casual observer would not perhaps have remarked a gentleman 
of the name of Michael Angelo Titmarsh, who nevertheless was 
there. But as, my dear Miss Smith, the descriptions in this letter, 
from the words in page 697, line 29 — the party moved — up to the 
words paid to it, on this page, have purely emanated from your 
obedient servant’s fancy, and not from his personal observation (for 
no being on earth, except a newspaper reporter, can be in two places 
at once), permit me now to communicate to you what little circum- 
stances fell under my own particular view on the day of the 15th of 
December. 

As we came out, the air and the buildings round about wei:e 
tinged with purple, and the clear sharp half-moon before mentioned 
was still in the sky, where it seemed to be lingering as if it would 
catch a peep of the commencement of the famous procession. The 
Arc de Triomphe was shining in a keen frosty sunshine, and looking 
as clean and rosy as if it had just made its toilette. The canvas 
or pasteboard image of Napoleon, of which only the gilded legs had 
been erected the night previous, was now visible, body, head, crown, 
sceptre and all, and made an imposing show. Long gilt banners 
were flaunting about, with the Imperial cipher and eagle, and the 
names of the battles and victories glittering in gold. The long 
avenues of the Champs Elys^es had been covered with sand for the 
convenience of the great procession that was to tramp across it that 
day. Hundreds of people were marching to and fro, laughing, 
chattering, singing, gesticulating as happy Frenchmen do. There 
is no better sight than a French crowd on the alert for a festival, 
and nothing more catching than their good-humour. As for the 
notion which has been put forward by some of the Opposition news- 
papers that the populace were on this occasion unusually solemn or 
sentimental, it would be paying a bad compliment to the natural 


702 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

gaiety of the nation, to say that it was, on the morning at least of 
the 15th of December, affected in any such absurd way. Itinerant 
merchants were shouting out lustily their commodities of cigars and 
brandy, and the weather was so bitter cold, that they could not fail 
to find plenty of customers. Carpenters and workmen were still 
making a huge banging and clattering among the sheds which were 
built for the accommodation of the visitors. Some of these sheds 
were hung with black, such as one sees before churches in funerals ; 
some were robed in violet, in compliment to the Emperor whose 
mourning they put on. Most of them had fine tricolour hangings, 
with appropriate inscriptions to the glory of the French arms. 

All along the Champs Elysdes were urns of plaster-of-paris 
destined to contain funereal incense and flames ; columns decorated 
with huge flags of blue, red, and white, embroidered with shining 
crowns, eagles, and N’s in gilt paper, and statues of plaster repre- 
senting Nymphs, Triumphs, Victories, or other female personages, 
painted in oil so as to represent marble. Real marble could have 
had no better effect, and the appearance of the whole was lively and 
picturesque in the extreme. On each pillar was a buckler of the 
colour of bronze, bearing the name and date of a battle in gilt 
letters : you had to walk through a mile-long avenue of these glorious 
reminiscences, telling of spots where, in the great Imperial days, 
throats had been victoriously cut. 

As we passed down the avenue, severals troops of soldiers met 
us : the garde municipale a, cheval , in brass helmets and shining 
jackboots, noble-looking men, large, on large horses, the pick of the old 
army, as I have heard, and armed for the special occupation of peace- 
keeping : not the most glorious, but the part of the best soldier s 
duty, as I fancy. Then came a regiment of Carabineers, one of 
Infantry — little, alert, brown-faced, good-humoured men, their band 
at their head playing sounding marches. These were followed by a 
regiment or detachment of the Municipals on foot — two or three 
inches taller than the men of the Line, and conspicuous for their 
neatness and discipline. By-and-by came a squadron or so of 
dragoons of the National Guards; they are covered with straps, 
buckles, aiguillettes, and cartouche-boxes, and made under their 
tricolour cock’s-plumes a show sufficiently warlike. The point 
which chiefly struck me on beholding these military men of the 
National Guard and the Line, was the admirable manner in which 
they bore a cold that seemed to me as sharp as the weather in the 
Russian retreat, through which cold the troops were trotting without 
trembling, and in the utmost cheerfulness and good-humour. An 
aide-de-camp galloped past in white pantaloons. By heavens ! it 
made me shudder to look at him. 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 703 

With this profound reflection, we turned away to the right 
towards the hanging bridge (where we met a detachment of young 
men of the l^cole de l’Etat Major, fine-looking lads, but sadly 
disfigured by the wearing of stays or belts, that make the waists 
of the French dandies of a most absurd tenuity), and speedily 
passed into the avenue of statues leading up to the Invalides. All 
these were statues of warriors from Ney to Charlemagne, modelled 
in clay for the nonce, and placed here to meet the corpse of the 
greatest warrior of all. Passing these, we had to walk to a little 
door at the back of the Invalides, where was a crowd of persons 
plunged in the deepest mourning, and pushing for places in the 
chapel within. 

The chapel is spacious and of no great architectural pretensions, 
but was on this occasion gorgeously decorated in honour of the great 
person to whose body it was about to give shelter. 

We had arrived at nine : the ceremony was not to begin, they 
said, till two : we had five hours before us to see all that from our 
places could be seen. 

We saw that the roof, up to the first lines of architecture, was 
hung with violet; beyond this was black. We saw N’s, eagles, 
bees, laurel wreaths, and other such Imperial emblems, adorning 
every nook and corner of the edifice. Between the arches, on each 
side of the aisle, were painted trophies, on which were written the 
names of some of Napoleon’s Generals and of their principal deeds 
of arms — and not their deeds of arms alone, pardi, but their coats 
of arms too. 0 stars and garters ! but this is too much. What was 
Ney’s paternal coat, prithee, or honest Junot’s quarterings, or the 
venerable escutcheon of King Joachim’s father, the innkeeper ? 

You and I, dear Miss Smith, know the exact value of heraldic 
bearings. We know that though the greatest pleasure of all is to 
act like a gentleman, it is a pleasure, nay a merit, to be one — to 
come of an old stock, to have an honourable pedigree, to be able to 
say that centuries back our fathers had gentle blood, and to us 
transmitted the same. There is a good in gentility : the man who 
questions it is envious, or a coarse dullard not able to perceive the 
difference between high breeding and low. One has in the same 
way heard a man brag that he did not know the difference between 
wines, not he— give him a good glass of port and he would pitch all 
your claret to the deuce. My love, men often brag about their own 
dulness in this way. 

In the matter of gentlemen, democrats cry, “ Psha ! Give us 
one of Nature’s gentlemen, and hang your aristocrats.” And so 
indeed Nature does make some gentlemen — a few here and there. 
But Art makes most. Good birth, that is, good handsome well- 


704 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

formed fathers and mothers, nice cleanly nursery-maids, good meals, 
good physicians, good education, few cares, pleasant easy habits of 
life, and luxuries not too great or enervating, but only refining — a 
course of these going on for a few generations are the best gentlemen- 
makers in the world, and beat Nature hollow. 

If, respected madam, you say that there is something better 
than gentility in this wicked world, and that honesty and personal 
worth are more valuable than all the politeness and high-breeding 
that ever wore red-heeled pumps, knight’s spurs, or Hoby’s boots, 
Titmarsh for one is never going to say you nay. If you even go so 
far as to say that the very existence of this super-genteel society 
among us, from the slavish respect that we pay to it, from the 
dastardly manner in which we attempt to imitate its airs and ape 
its vices, goes far to destroy honesty of intercourse, to make us 
meanly ashamed of our natural affections and honest harmless usages, 
and so does a great deal more harm than it is possible it can do 
good by its example — perhaps, madam, you speak with some sort 
of reason. Potato myself, I can’t help seeing that the tulip yonder 
has the best place in the garden, and the most sunshine and the 
most water, and the best tending — and not liking him over well. 
But I can’t help acknowledging that Nature has given him a much 
finer dress than ever I can hope to have, and of this, at least, must 
give him the benefit. 

Or say, we are so many cocks and hens, my dear (sans arriere 
pense'e ), with our crops pretty full, our plumes pretty sleek, decent 
picking here and there in the straw-yard, and tolerable snug roosting 
in the barn : yonder on the terrace, in the sun, walks Peacock, 
stretching his proud neck, squealing every now and then in the 
most pert fashionable voice, and flaunting his great supercilious 
dandified tail. Don’t let us be too angry, my dear, with the useless, 
haughty, insolent creature because he despises us. Something is 
there about Peacock that we don’t possess. Strain your neck ever 
so, you can’t make it as long or as blue as his — cock your tail as 
much as you please, and it will never be half so fine to look at. 
But the most absurd, disgusting, contemptible sight in the world 
would you and I be, leaving the barndoor for my Lady’s flower- 
garden, forsaking our natural sturdy walk for the peacock’s genteel 
rickety stride, and adopting the squeak of his voice in the place of 
our gallant lusty cock-a-doodle-dooing. 

Do you take the allegory? I love to speak in such, and the 
above types have been presented to my mind while sitting opposite 
a gimcrack coat-of-arms and coronet that are painted in the Invalides 
Church and assigned to one of the Emperor’s Generals. 

Ventrebleu ! madam, what need have they of coats-of-arms and 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 


705 


coronets, and wretched imitations of old exploded aristocratic gew- 
gaws that they had flung out of the country — with the heads of 
the owners in them sometimes, for indeed they were not particular 
— a score of years before ? What business, forsooth, had they to be 
meddling with gentility and aping its ways, who had courage, merit, 
daring, genius sometimes, and a pride of their own to support, if 
proud they were inclined to be 1 ? A clever young man (who was 
not of high family himself, but had been bred up genteelly at Eton 
and the University) — young Mr. George Canning, at the commence- 
ment of the French Revolution, sneered at “ Ronald the Just, with 
ribbons in his shoes,” and the dandies, who then wore buckles, 
voted the sarcasm monstrous killing. It was a joke, my dear, 
worthy of a lacquey, or of a silly smart parvenu, not knowing the 
society into which his luck had cast him (God help him ! in later 
years, they taught him what they were !), and fancying in his silly 
intoxication that simplicity was ludicrous and fashion respectable. 
See, now, fifty years are gone, and where are shoe-buckles 1 Extinct, 
defunct, kicked into the irrevocable past off the toes of all Europe ! 

How fatal to the parvenu, throughout history, has been this 
respect for shoe buckles. Where, for instance, would the Empire 
of Napoleon have been, if Ney and Lannes had never sported 
such a thing as a coat-of-arms, and had only written their simple 
names on their shields, after the fashion of Desaix’s scutcheon 
yonder ? — the bold Republican who led the crowning charge at 
Marengo, and sent the best blood of the Holy Roman Empire . to 
the right-about, before the wretched misbegotten Imperial heraldry 
was born that was to prove so disastrous to the father of it. It 
has always been so. They won’t amalgamate. A country must 
be governed by the one principle or the other. But give, in a 
republic, an aristocracy ever so little chance, and it works and 
plots and sneaks and bullies and sneers itself into place, and you 
find democracy out of doors. Is it good that the aristocracy should 
so triumph ? — that is a question that you may settle according to 
your own notions and taste ; and permit me to say, I do not care 
twopence how you settle it. Large books have been written upon 
the subject in a variety of languages, and coming to a variety of 
conclusions. Great statesmen are there in our country, from Lord 
Londonderry down to Mr. Vincent, each in his degree maintaining 
his different opinion. But here, in the matter of Napoleon, is a 
simple fact : he founded a great, glorious, strong, potent republic, 
able to cope with the best aristocracies in the world, and perhaps 
to beat them all; he converts his republic into a monarchy, and 
surrounds his monarchy with what he calls aristocratic institutions ; 
and you know what becomes of him. The people estranged, the 
4 2 Y 


706 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

aristocracy faithless (when did they ever pardon one who was not 
of themselves?) — the Imperial fabric tumbles to the ground. If 
it teaches nothing else, my dear, it teaches one a great point of 
policy — namely, to stick by one’s party. 

While these thoughts (and sundry others relative to the horrible 
cold of the place, the intense dulness of delay, the stupidity of 
leaving a warm bed and a breakfast in order to witness a procession 
that is much better performed at a theatre) — while these thoughts 
were passing in the mind, the church began to fill apace, and you 
saw that the hour of the ceremony was drawing near. 

Imprimis , came men with lighted staves, and set fire to at 
least ten thousand wax-candles that were hanging in brilliant 
chandeliers in various parts of the chapel. Curtains were dropped 
over the upper windows as these illuminations were effected, and 
the church was left only to the funereal light of the spermaceti. 
To the right was the dome, round the cavity of which sparkling 
lamps were set, that designed the shape of it brilliantly against 
the darkness. In the midst, and where the altar used to stand, 
rose the catafalque. And why not ? Who is God here but Napo- 
leon ? and in him the sceptics have already ceased to believe ; but 
the people does still somewhat. He and Louis XIV. divide the 
worship of the place between them. 

As for the catafalque, the best that I can say for it is that it 
is really a noble and imposing-looking edifice, with tall pillars, 
supporting a grand dome, with innumerable escutcheons, standards, 
and allusions military and funereal. A great eagle of course tops 
the whole : tripods burning spirits of wine stand round this kind 
of dead man’s throne, and as we saw it (by peering over the heads 
of our neighbours in the front rank), it looked, in the midst of the 
black concave, and under the effect of half a thousand flashing 
cross-lights, properly grand and tall. The effect of the whole 
chapel, however (to speak the jargon of the painting-room) was 
spoiled by being cut up ; there were too many objects for the eye 
to rest upon: the ten thousand wax-candles, for instance, in their 
numberless twinkling chandeliers, the raw tranchant colours of the 
new banners, wreaths, bees, N’s, and other emblems dotting the 
place all over, and incessantly puzzling or rather bothering the 
beholder. 

High overhead, in a sort of mist, with the glare of their original 
colours worn down by dust and time, hung long rows of dim ghostly- 
looking standards captured in old days from the enemy. They 
were, I thought, the best and most solemn part of the show. 

To suppose that the people were bound to be solemn during 
the ceremony is to exact from them something quite needless and 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 


707 


unnatural. The very fact of a squeeze dissipates all solemnity. 
One great crowd is always, as I imagine, pretty much like another. 
In the course of the last few years I have seen three : that attend- 
ing the coronation of our present Sovereign, that which went to see 
Courvoisier hanged, and this which witnessed the Napoleon ceremony. 
The people so assembled for hours together are jocular rather than 
solemn, seeking to pass away the weary time with the best amuse- 
ments that will offer. There was, to be sure, in all the scenes 
above alluded to, just one moment — one particular moment — 
when the universal people feels a shock, and is for that second 
serious. 

But except for that second of time, I declare I saw no serious- 
ness here beyond that of ennui. The church began to fill with 
personages of all ranks and conditions. First, opposite our seats 
came a company of fat grenadiers of the National Guard, who 
presently, at the word of command, put their muskets down against 
benches and wainscots, until the arrival of the procession. For 
seven hours these men formed the object of the most anxious 
solicitude of all the ladies and gentlemen seated on our benches : 
they began to stamp their feet, for the cold was atrocious, and we 
were frozen where we sat. Some of them fell to blowing their 
fingers ; one executed a kind of dance, such as one sees often here 
in cold weather — the individual jumps repeatedly upon one leg, and 
kicks out the other violently, meanwhile his hands are flapping 
across his chest. Some fellows opened their cartouche-boxes and 
from them drew eatables of various kinds. You can’t think how 
anxious we were to know the qualities of the same. “ Tiens, ce 
gros qui mange une cuisse de volaille ! ” — “ II a du jambon, eelui- 
lk.” “I should like some, too,” growls an Englishman, “for I 
hadn’t a morsel of breakfast,” and so on. This is the way, my 
dear, that we see Napoleon buried. 

Did you ever see a chicken escape from clown in a pantomime 
and hop over into the pit, or amongst the fiddlers 'l and have you 
not seen the shrieks of enthusiastic laughter that the wondrous 
incident occasions ? We had our chicken, of course : there never 
was a public crowd without one. A poor unhappy woman in a 
greasy plaid cloak, with a battered rose-coloured plush bonnet, was 
seen taking her place among the stalls allotted to the grandees. 
“ Yoyez done l’Anglaise,” said everybody, and it was too true. You 
could swear that the wretch was an Englishwoman : a bonnet was 
never made or worn so in any other country. Half-an-hour’s delight- 
ful amusement did this lady give us all. She was whisked from 
seat to seat by the huissiers , and at every change of place woke a 
peal of laughter. I was glad, however, at the end of the day to 


708 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 


see the old pink bonnet over a very comfortable seat, which some- 
body had not claimed and she had kept. 

Are not these remarkable incidents ? The next wonder we saw 
was the arrival of a set of tottering old Invalids, who took their 
places under us with drawn sabres. Then came a superb drum- 
major, a handsome smiling good-humoured giant of a man, his 
breeches astonishingly embroidered with silver lace. Him a dozen 
little drummer-boys followed — “the little darlings!” all the ladies 
cried out in a breath : they were indeed pretty little fellows, and 
came and stood close under us : the huge drum-major smiled over 
his little red-capped flock, and for many hours in the most perfect 
contentment twiddled his moustaches and played with the tassels 
of his cane. 

Now the company began to arrive thicker and thicker. A 
whole covey of Conseillers d’Etat came in, in blue coats, embroidered 
with blue silk, then came a crowd of lawyers in toques and caps, 
among whom were sundry venerable Judges in scarlet, purple velvet 
and ermine — a kind of Bajazet costume. Look there ! there is the 
Turkish Ambassador in his red cap, turning his solemn brown face 
about and looking preternaturally wise. The Deputies walk in in 
a body. Guizot is not there : he passed by just now in full 
ministerial costume. Presently little Thiers saunters back : what 
a clear, broad, sharp-eyed face the fellow has, with his grey hair 
cut down so demure ! A servant passes, pushing through the 
crowd a shabby wheel-chair. It has just brought old Moncey, the 
Governor of the Invalides, the honest old man who defended Paris 
so stoutly in 1814. He has been very ill, and is worn down 
almost by infirmities ; but in his illness he was perpetually asking, 
“ Doctor, shall I live till the 15th 1 Give me till then, and I die 
contented.” One can’t help believing that the old man’s wish is 
honest, however one may doubt the piety of another illustrious 
Marshal, who once carried a candle before Charles X. in a procession, 
and has been this morning to Neuilly to kneel and pray at the foot 
of Napoleon’s coffin. He might have said his prayers at home, to 
be sure ; but don’t let us ask too much : that kind of reserve is not 
a Frenchman’s characteristic. 

Bang — bang ! At about half-past two a dull sound of cannon- 
ading was heard without the church, and signals took place between 
the Commandant of the Invalides, of the National Guards, and the 
big drum-major. Looking to these troops (the fat Nationals were 
shuffling into line again), the two Commandants uttered, as nearly 
as I could catch them, the following words — 

“ Harrum Hump ! ” 

At once all the National bayonets were on the present, and the 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 709 

sabres of the old Invalids up. The big drum-major looked round at 
the children, who began very slowly and solemnly on their drums, 
Rub-dub-dub — rub-dub-dub — (count two between each) — rub-dub- 
dub — and a great procession of priests came down from the altar. 

First tliere was a tall handsome cross-bearer, bearing a long gold 
cross, of which the front was turned towards his Grace the Arch- 
bishop. Then came a double row of about sixteen incense-boys, 
dressed in white surplices : the first boy, about six years old, the 
last with whiskers and of the height of a man. Then followed a 
regiment of priests in black tippets and white gowns : they had 
black hoods, like the moon when she is at her third quarter, where- 
with those who were bald (many were, and fat too) covered themselves. 
All the reverend men held their heads meekly down, and affected to 
be reading in their breviaries. 

After the Priests came some Bishops of the neighbouring districts, 
in purple, with crosses sparkling on their episcopal bosoms. 

Then came, after more priests, a set of men whom I have never 
seen before — a kind of ghostly heralds, young and handsome men, 
some of them in stiff tabards of black and silver, their eyes to the 
ground, their hands placed at right angles with their chests. 

Then came two gentlemen bearing remarkably tall candlesticks, 
with candles of corresponding size. One was burning brightly, but 
the wind (that chartered libertine) had blown out the other, which 
nevertheless kept its place in the procession— I wondered to myself 
whether the reverend gentleman who carried the extinguished candle, 
felt disgusted, humiliated, mortified— perfectly conscious that the 
eyes of many thousands of people were bent upon that bit of re- 
fractory wax. We all of us looked at it with intense interest. 

Another cross-bearer, behind whom came a gentleman carrying 
an instrument like a bedroom candlestick. 

His Grandeur Monseigneur Afire, Archbishop of Paris : he was 
in black and white, his eyes were cast to the earth, his hands were 
together at right angles from his chest : on his hands were black 
gloves, and on the black gloves sparkled the sacred episcopal — what 
do I say ? — archiepiscopal ring. On his head was the mitre. It is 
unlike the godly coronet that figures upon the coach panels of our 
own Right Reverend Bench. The Archbishop’s mitre may be about 
a yard high : formed within probably of consecrated pasteboard, it 
is without covered by a sort of watered silk of white and silver. 
On the two peaks at the top of the mitre are two very little spangled 
tassels, that frisk and twinkle about in a very agreeable manner. 

Monseigneur stood opposite to us for some time, when I had the 
opportunity to note the above remarkable phenomena. He stood 
opposite me for some time, keeping his eyes steadily on the ground, 


710 THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 

his hands before him, a small clerical train following after. Why 
didn’t they move? There was the National Guard keeping on 
presenting arms, the little drummers going on rub-dub-dub — rub- 
dub-dub — in the same steady slow way, and the procession never 
moved an inch. There was evidently, to use an elegant phrase, a 
hitch somewhere. 

[Enter a fat Priest, who bustles up to the Drum-major .] 

Fat Priest. — Taisez-vous. 

Little Drummer . — Rub -dub-dub — rub-dub-dub — rub-dub- 
dub, &c. 

Drum-major. — Qu’est-ce done ? 

Fat Priest. — Taisez-vous, vous dis-je; ce n’est pas le corps. 
II n’arrivera pas — pour une heure. 

The little drums were instantly hushed, the procession turned 
to the right-about, and walked back to the altar again, the blown- 
out candle that had been on the near side of us before was now on 
the off side, the National Guards set down their muskets and began 
at their sandwiches again. We had to wait an hour and a half at 
least before the great procession arrived. The guns without went 
on booming all the while at intervals, and as we heard each, the 
audience gave a kind of “ ahahah ! ” such as you hear when the 
rockets go up at Vauxhall. 

At last the real Procession came. 

Then the drums began to beat as formerly, the Nationals to get 
under arms, the clergymen were sent for and went, and presently — 
yes, there was the tall cross-bearer at the head of the procession, 
and they came bach ! 

They chanted something in a weak, snuffling, lugubrious manner, 
to the melancholy bray of a serpent. 

Crash ! however, Mr. Habeneck and the fiddlers in the organ- 
loft pealed out a wild shrill march, which stopped the reverend 
gentlemen, and in the midst of this music — 

And of a great trampling of feet and clattering, 

And of a great crowd of Generals and Officers in fine clothes, 

With the Prince de Joinville marching quickly at the head of 
the procession, 

And while everybody’s heart was thumping as hard as possible, 

Napoleon’s coffin passed. 

It was done in an instant. A box covered with a great red 
cross — a dingy-looking crown lying on the top of it — Seamen on 
one side and Invalids on the other — they had passed in an instant 
and were up the aisle. 


ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY 


711 


A faint snuffling sound, as before, was heard from the officiating 
priests, but we knew of nothing more. It is said that old Louis 
Philippe was standing at the catafalque, whither the Prince de 
Joinville advanced and said, “Sire, I bring you the body of the 
Emperor Napoleon.” 

Louis Philippe answered, “ I receive it in the name of France.” 
Bertrand put on the body the most glorious victorious sword that 
ever has been forged since the apt descendants of the first murderer 
learned how to hammer steel ; and the coffin was placed in the 
temple prepared for it. 

The six hundred singers and the fiddlers now commenced the 
playing and singing of a piece of music ; and a part of the crew of 
the Belle Poule skipped into the places that had been kept for 
them under us, and listened to the music, chewing tobacco. While 
the actors and fiddlers were going on, most of the spirits-of-wine 
lamps on altars went out. 

When we arrived in the open air we passed through the court 
of the Invalides, where thousands of people had been assembled, 
but where the benches were now quite bare. Then we came on to 
the terrace before the place : the old soldiers were firing off the 
great guns, which made a dreadful stunning noise, and frightened 
some of us, who did not care to pass before the cannon and be 
knocked down even by the wadding. The guns were fired in honour 
of the King, who was going home by a back door. All the forty 
thousand people who covered the great stands before the Hotel had 
gone away too. The Imperial Barge had been dragged up the river, 
and was lying lonely along the Quay, examined by some few shivering 
people on the shore. 

It was five o’clock when we reached home : the stars were 
shining keenly out of the frosty sky, and Francis told me that 
dinner was just ready. 

In this manner, my dear Miss Smith, the great Napoleon was 
buried. 

Farewell. 


THE END 























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